


How To Deal with Your Idiot: A guide

by Caffeinated_blood



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Also yes, Anarchy, Author Is Sleep Deprived, BoOkwYrm iSnT StoPpInG AnD I hAve No sElfCoNtrOl, Bookwyrm conversations, Clubbing, Dream is a badass and he knows it, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Engagement, Feels, First Dates, Fluff, Go to the comments, Haphephobia, I Don't Even Know, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Idiots in Love, Im not even sorry lmao, Implied/Referenced Torture, It has the beginnings of a plot and then some, M/M, Matchmaking, Mild Sexual Content, One Night Stands, Roses, Sad love, Sporadic Updates, Surprise Party, Temporary Character Death, The Author Regrets Nothing, The thread is a mini fic of its own at this point, To anyone looking for the Night/Killer, UPDATE 0.3, WE HAVE THE NIGHT/KILLER THREAD IN CHAPTER FORMATS, Whipped Cream, Wow these tags are a mess, YOU ARE A BLESSING, alcohol consumption, all very vaguely implied, also bad love, also sad feels, and also theyre gay, and how to hold hands despite it, and i have nothing to say for myself, and i most probably failed but oh well, and ink suffers for it, are these song lyrics?, are they applicable song lyrics?, at first, at this point there's more content in the comments than in the actual ficlets so, bc error wants to be soft with his bonefriend damnit, but they make it work, chilling in outertale, courtesy of BookwyrmFinallyGotAnAccount, error doesnt know how to ask someone out, fake it til you make it and all, fever-induced poetry, five feet apart, flirting during fighting, fluff all the way, fluff feels, for each other and everyone knows but them, gremlin Ink, haha remember when i said fluff all the way, heres me trying to remedy that, honestly Wyrm ur such an enabler tysm for being here, idiots being idiots, idiots meant to be each other's idiots, in the comment section, ink is just happy he isnt getting blasted at anymore, ive just realized i havent tagged events that happen in the ficlets at all so like, ive lost count of how many threads there are currently, let's see we got, mediocre fight scenes, most of the characs are only mentioned, proud mama error, sleepy baby birb aaaa, someone give Reaper a hug, sometimes happy love, thats all this is, there's Night/Killer happening in the comments, these characters make me so soff inside hhnnnnn, theyre awesome, things escalated, thnx for that Bookwyrm, turned into giving up, two bros - Freeform, update 0.2, update lol, we now have TWO minifics, what else uhhh, what to do when ur enemy has a crush on you?, yeah about that-, yes they are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 27,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24981037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffeinated_blood/pseuds/Caffeinated_blood
Summary: just an idea dump so far.we'll see how it goes.
Relationships: Dream/Cross, Error/Ink, Geno/Reaper, Nightmare/Killer, Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 2209
Kudos: 169





	1. Chapter 1

Error spat profanities under his breath, arms crossing in front of his chest. Damn Killer and his void damned bets. The bastard _knew_ Error wouldn't back down if his pride was on the line, the shit. Still, he could at least acknowledge the fact that Killer even dared him in the first place. Few would, and so boldly no less. Error sighs into the scarf wrapped around his neck, the gesture going unnoticed by the group of idiots surrounding him. Horror and Dust would be drunk off their asses before the night ends. Cross he could at least kind of trust wouldn't follow the other two idiots lead (he hoped. At least he would watch over the two drunks.) Nightmare would be at the bar, with the wine he'd demand from the barkeep. The bastard that dragged them all here was probably right beside him. For all Killer was bold, he was pathetically awkward in his advances. (Poor Nightmare, the sorry bastard.)

Error sighs and rises from the booth. If he was going to be staying here (of all places to 'chill' at!) he was going to have to grab a drink. Or five. He eyes the sea of bodies disdainfully, before tearing through space to arrive on the other side of it. He wasn't going to touch _that_ sweaty clusterfuck with a ten-foot pole if could avoid it fuck you very much. He shudders even thinking of it. 

Just.

No.

The bartender—who doesn't bother with small talk, thank the stars for small mercies—simply makes his orders without added fuss when he asks, and he knocks back the first three shots of Fire Whiskey one after the other. He'd need more to even start feeling the beginnings of a buzz. Unlike his idiotic friends, he wasn't looking to spend the weekend with a hangover. He grins when he thinks of their upcoming suffering. He'd have to make sure to charge his phone when they get back. His blackmail folder was starting to look a little sparse.

He's interrupted from his fourth shot by a shout from a familiar voice. He turns to look, and sure enough, it's the one friend he'd have never thought he'd see in a place like _this_ of all things.

(He ignores the thought that said he was being _juuust_ a tad bit hypocritical.)

"ERROR! IT IS YOU! GOSH, I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN SO LONG! HOW HAVE YOU BEEN, OLD FRIEND?"

Um. Ow. Yeah, that's Blue alright. Error was going to go deaf before this night _ends_ he swears it. Blue's naturally loud voice was right at home among the deafening speakers, allowing himself to be heard without a problem. 

"Hello, Blueberry. I've been good, how are you and that Carrotstick doing?"

A pout. The electric blue stars that served as the other's eye lights grew slightly smaller as he admonished his old friend.

"ERROR! I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO CALL ME BLUE NOW! AND _STRETCH_ IS DOING GREAT TOO! THANK YOU FOR ASKING!"

Error shrugs and inclines his head, observing the cheery skeleton. He shouldn't be so surprised to see Blue going all out on what was (apparently) his clubbing outfit. He always did approach everything with an enviable passion, something Error had long accepted as his friend's natural quirk.

What Blue was wearing was at least (arguably) more decent than what the other occupants of the club wore. Error looked him up and down. The slightly tattered bandana of his namesake was around his neck, a simple long-sleeved white sweater cropped at where his ribs ended at the front while being slightly longer at the back, and electric blue shorts over black tights with some heeled gray boots. Yeah, Blue was _definitely_ dressed for clubbing. Error was begrudgingly impressed. 

"Never thought you'd be the type to sneak out _Blueberry_. What would your poor brother think?"

Error mocks, only slightly worried. It wasn't a secret how overly protective Stretch was of his seemingly innocent brother, despite being the younger of the two. As expected, he sees a flash of guilt in the other's demeanor—a slight hunch to the spine and the light wringing of his hands a testament to his anxiety—before his chest puffs out and he exclaims,

"Stretch Can't And Doesn't Control What I Do And Don't Do, Though He Certainly Tries To." a snort "You Would Think _He_ Was The Older Brother." a roll of annoyed eye lights. The stars were gone, replaced by regular bright pinpricks of color.

"Anyways, What Are You Doing Here? I Never Thought I'd See _You_ Of All Monsters In A _Bar_. That's Like, Almost All Of Your Pet Peeves In One Place!"

Well, he wasn't wrong. Once again, Error longs for the quiet of his abode and sighs for the fourth time.

"I was dragged here, unfortunately. One of the idiots thought a dare would be a brilliant idea and kidnapped me. Why I bothered giving that ass a key I'll never know."

Blue giggles at him, no doubt already knowing which of the idiots would be suffering from his ire. He flags down the bartender with a wave, and gives two orders of Moonshine Madness and one Bloody Mary, before turning to down Error's untouched fourth and fifth shot, laughing merrily as Error gapes at where his shot used to be.

"You little shit" is said with hardly any malice and a lot fonder than he meant it, and he knows Blue hears it with how his grin grows just that bit smugger. "I'm your little shit though" is shot back with a cheeky wink, and Blue tilts his head, excusing himself with a merry _Gotta Go!_ before grabbing and warping off to wherever he and those drinks were meant to be. 

Error turns back to look over the crowd. He sees a miserable looking Cross holding (a drunk off his ass) Horror by the neck and shoving him down in an empty booth before reaching out to drag (an equally hammered) Dust from another bottle. He solemnly shakes his head. Poor bastard. He doesn't bother looking for the other two.

**'Probably in a closet somewhere'** he snickers. The relationship those two had was more headache-inducing than Asgoro, and that's saying something. He scans the crowd again, this time for his energizer bunny of a friend, and sees a flash of signature blue on his left. The placement of the booth was strategically placed in a way that left access to both dance floor and bar without much hassle. Guess little Blueberry wasn't as innocent as others perceived him to be. Error tries to imagine Stretch's face when he realizes exactly just how much mischief his brother was constantly up to (and consequently involved Error in), and ends up snorting into his drink. It was a good thing he was a skeleton, else he'd be putting on a rather pitiful display of choking on air he didn't need. 

Huh. Maybe he'd drop a couple of hints when he'd drop by. He could see Stretch's confusion and disbelief now. 

_pffft_

Yeah, he's dropping off some hints now. Maybe spread around some mementos from way back when.

Way, _way_ back when. 

(He remembers how much bullshit Blueberry constantly dragged him into—with and without consent— and concludes that if those weren't enough to ruffle a few feathers, only then would he bring out the big guns.)

(The big guns including but not limited to photo evidence. The countless videos would be saved for last. He wasn't sharing his blackmail so easily. Not without a price at least.)

A particularly hard knock on his skull interrupts his thoughts, and he turns to the stupid enough heathen _who was going to die a miserable death—_

—there's a skeleton in front of him.

A skeleton with especially expressive eye lights.

The skeleton Blueberry brought during their more daring ventures.

_The same skeleton he used to have a massive stars damned crush on whatthefu—_

And the skeleton is currently waving their hand in front of his face.

"Uhm? Hello in there? Are you okay? Oh wait, maybe this is one of those crashes Blue mentioned…" the skeleton trails off. Error should reply. He really should. Right now. The other was starting to look panicky he really should _say something you imbecile—!_

"Hhhh??"

…

_Brilliant_

He resists the urge to hit himself over the skull by a thread, twitching fingers curling into a fist to ground him into the waking world.

…

He still hasn't answered the (less panicked-looking) skeleton in front of him, has he?

_Starsdammit Error get a grip!_

"Um? Did you just wheeze? At me? What? Why?"

"I—fuCk—look jUsT—hhHHHH W@!T a SeC tHis uSuaLLy g0eS away In A f3w sEntencEs exCuse mE—" just throw him off a cliff and leave him to decay _that was not you getting a grip Error the fuck?_

"…ohmyStArS that Was s0 eMbArrAsSinG—!"

He's dead. He died of embarrassment and now he's going to be tortured by—

"Creators help me, you're adorable what the heck?" 

_Excuse the fuck outta him?_

"I'm sorry?" 

This has got to be a trick. A prank. Blueberry was behind this he's sure of it! Only the blue bastard would dare to use this against him because of _course_ he would. He better fucking run now or—

—a hand was in front of his face again.

Error focused his sight on the view that invaded his space. The other's eye lights were of an exclamation point and a question mark trained on his person. He fought the faint warmth from his magic that threatened to expose him. He'd rather not explain why he was a blushing mess in front of the cause of the mess in the first place.

"Hey? Are you good now?" Ink asked him, still visibly concerned. Error didn't blame him. The artist was being rather calm, despite not dealing with one of Error's glitching moments before. He didn't overreact and encroach on his bubble too—which was a first because Ink was famous for having no concept of boundaries—so that automatically earned him points.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I didn't mean to make you panic or anything." Error was internally relieved when the other's eye lights turned into the star and heart combo it usually was whenever Error saw him.

(Nevermind that Blue said the heart wasn't a commonly seen shape outside of when Ink would see Error.)

"Nah Ru, you don't have to apologize. It's just another of your charms." He winked, a pink oval staring up at him from the open socket. "One of your many, many charms~"

Error did not blush. He did _not_ and anyone who said otherwise were _lying_.

"Shut your trap flirty bastard," Error retorts blandly. "and shove it up your stars damned coccyx."

"Oh? So you think my coccyx is _out of this world_ then?" Ink smiles at him, looking more predatory than Error ever remembered seeing him. "Yours is great too!"

Error blanks. Then flushes with rage—and it is rage shut up!—and then "Shut up! That's not what I meant! Bastard!" He purposely ignores the last statement the squid for brains artist said. It didn't affect him. He was calm and his cheeks were not bluer than they already were. Not at all.

Ink cackles at him, the sound of his laugh making Error's cheeks a deeper blue (Error's freckles looked like mini stars!), and hops up to sit on the stool next to the black-boned skeleton. He glances at his companion and snickers, seeing Error turtle into a Prussian blue scarf wrapped around his neck. He feels his zygomatic arch warm up. That was the scarf he'd bought for the glitch's birthday! He can't believe Error kept it!

Error was such a cutie.

Said cutie was currently fighting his magic from making a light show of his face. Error would not become a puddle of pixels in the face of simple flirting! He refused! 

Error peeked at Ink, who was humming happily under his breath while waiting on the bartender for his drink and relaxed minutely. Sure Ink was a major bastard but he was always quick to pull back when Error got overwhelmed. It was just another thing that kept drawing the glitch to him.

_Stars damn you Squid bastard_

The artist was dressed in significantly fewer layers than Error was used to. He had ditched the arm and leg covers for a night, leaving his swirling tattoos in full sight. Error asked him once if the tattoos had any meaning to them since Ink was covered in them. The artist only shrugged at him and tapped his face with the paintbrush he always carried around—leaving the glitch to wipe at his skull in an attempt to clean off the imprint of paint. He only succeeded in smearing the substance further and had to dunk his skull in a river before it dried on him.

The rest of the artist's outfit was for once bare of any trace of his passion. Dressed in a(n enticingly lacy) blue (the same hue as his magic) crop top with a sweetheart neckline (and if only Error would lean forward he'd have a view that'd make him crash for sure) with high-waisted red jean shorts. Error tried not to choke on his conjured tongue. _Void and stars Ink was gorgeous in his colors._

If this went any longer Error's magic was going to do something very inappropriate and very without his input and he wasn't sure if he was going to be sorry about it because Ink was being very unfair with how alluring he was and his magic was already starting to turn on him _fuckfuckfuckfUCKFUCK_

Ink was calling his name. When did he get his drink? Why does he look worried? He shouldn't worry about him! He should worry about himself! Error's magic was being a difficult shit and he couldn't—

"—ERROR!" Oh shit, why did he sound annoyed? His face was all scrunched up. 

"Stop being so cute inky bastard."

Ink froze. Did he hear that right? He didn't. Error didn't just call him cute. He was dreaming. This wasn't real. 

_Void this better not be a dream!_

_Void this better be a dream!_

If Error thought his magic was bright before it was blinding now! Dammit, why couldn't he keep his trap shut?! Ink was going to think he was ridiculous! He was—! 

—flushed a brilliant rainbow? Ink was blushing? Did... did Error do that? To the unflappable can't-be-bothered-to-try-to-give-a-damn artist??

What?

"...is there any chance at all that I somehow heard that right? I did hear you call me cute, right?"

"...."

The silence between them was damning, despite the location they were in. Error's skull could be mistaken for one of the club's many lights — his magic drowning his face in blue and yellow so bright it put neon to shame! He stared down at the polished wood top, dual-toned eye lights turned pinpricks fixed on the rim of his shot glass, holding back from hiding in his scarf for the rest of the night and retreating to the booth where the rest of the idiots were. His mind was still fixated on the mental picture of the artist's prismatic blush. 

He wanted to see more of that pretty rainbow flush.


	2. Chapter 2

Ink couldn't believe it. 

"Wow, are you actually going to do it? You never struck me as the type." 

"Well, I never claimed to be an 'innocent' either."

A raised brow.

"Fair point. Go on then.” A feral grin. “Show us what you got."

“ **Gladly** ," he purred. He swaggers—because there is no other way to describe what he does—up to the unsuspecting skeleton.

"Excuse me, sir?" he catches their attention, hands clutching the bottom of his shirt, "I'm terribly lost. Can you help me?"

The skeleton's sockets are wide, clearly surprised. He's lost? In a small place like this? Must be a newcomer then. He looks the stranger over and shoots a hesitant smile,

"Sure buddy, where d'ya gotta go?" 

The stranger beams at him and cheerily says,

"Well if you could help me find my way into your arms that'd be swell!" 

A blink. Eye lights wide and mouth agape. 

"...excuse me?" 

The stranger doesn't falter, and their smile grows bigger, a touch away from becoming a smirk. They wink at him. 

"Ah but if I could find my way into your heart that'd be better!" 

"... _what_." 

The stranger's blinding smile is gone. In its place is a dangerous rendition of it, the owner's eye lights glittering and predatory. He can't suppress the shiver that runs down his spine, surprising him and making the other skeleton's grin sharpen.

"What? Is there a problem?" It's a sinfully rumbling purr coming from him, the skeleton that looks like he would gladly eat Cross alive, and he's stunned by how quickly his magic rushes to color his face. He keeps his stare on the other skeleton’s face, looking for a trace of mockery but finding none.

The stranger does the same, except that he's less in denial about how desirable he finds this conquest of his and more pleased about the coloring on their cheeks—a beautiful purple he's quickly becoming enamored by.

Dream leans in closer to the mess of a skeleton and is (Very Much) satisfied by how the other's breathing hitches when he does. He feels powerful like this and takes in the view, grin still sharp and wide. He spares a quick thought of thanks to Blue for convincing him to tag along, to Ink for getting all those shots in him, and to his tolerance for not making him a blundering mess (like his brother becomes whenever he gets more than half a bottle in him).

The club's atmosphere only serves to muddle his thoughts further. He still couldn't wrap his skull around it—how could he? No one's ever been as bold in their advances as this stranger. Heck, no one's ever reduced him to speechlessness either! He's always had a quip ready; a tongue quick to give a lashing and to dish out comebacks. 

…

So why has his silver tongue failed him now? Then again, he's almost always used it for handing and returning insults. The flirting he was used to usually consisted of raunchy and filthy lines meant to feed the imagination, not the flowery play on words this cheeky stranger just shot at him! He had no idea what to say, and it lowkey terrified and excited him more than he thought it would.

Cross took a breath and released it, gathering his bearings and focusing on the **now**. He wasn't going to be a blushing virgin dammit! With the company (read: idiots) he surrounded himself with he had a _repertoire_ of flirty comebacks. He met the other skeleton's gaze—and wasn't that flattering? That he hadn't walked away while Cross was swimming in his thoughts—and failed at keeping his magic in check, bringing color back so quick it made him dizzy. Gold eye lights pinned him in place, their owner looking more roguish by the second.

It made his Soul pound, the flush on his skull deepening into a violet hue.

**Who gave this guy the right to look this hot _VoiD fUck_**

It cannot be legal to do that. It just can’t. Not when this (beautiful) stranger made him feel like he was the only thing that mattered when his eyes told a different story—one that vowed to make him forget himself in carnal pleasure.

_It was an unbelievably tempting offer_

“What will your answer be,” there was the smirk, “ _sir?_ ”

Once again, Cross is hit by the question of how the hell this guy made a title, a simple honorific, sound like _liquid fucking sin._ It wasn’t fair to him at all! How was Cross going to make this guy lose his head when he can’t even think past the connotations of everything the other implies? It was so irritating! And he made it look graceful too—every move and every word reeling him in like an invitation to a dance.

It drove Cross mad!

And made him **_curious_**.

Fuck it. Responsible Cross isn’t available right now. Leave a message after the beep.

Well, he could always blame the alcohol. “Beep beep motherfucker.”

The stranger reels back a step, a brow raised in amused bafflement. “Pardon me?”

Cross reaches out to grab the succubus of a skeleton by his forearms and drags him close, bodies pressed together and skulls a breath away from touching. The stranger’s eye lights are wide before falling half-mast, smirk never losing its edge. He lets his hands fall from the arms to the other’s waist in a firm grip while the stranger winds his around his neck. They were breathing each other’s breaths now, heavy and deep with anticipation and excitement. Finally, Cross says,

“No, you are not pardoned.”

before he tilts the other to meet him in a long but somewhat chaste kiss. His hold on them tightens and he swings them up onto him, uncaring of the drunken hoots and hollers from the other patrons. The stranger—who faintly tastes of whiskey and apple cider—doesn’t seem to care for propriety and grabs the back of his skull before distracting him with a playful flick of the tongue, breaking their kiss for air they don’t need when he does. He eyes the gold appendage with hunger, unmoving from their twined state.

Dream, for his part, is actually a little out of breath with how intense the unwavering stare is. He’s far from done with his new mission though, so he cheats a little—giving his beau a quick peck and diving into the crook of their neck to introduce his teeth to the play.

“Nngh!”

Oh, now that was a dirty, dirty move. This skeleton was giving him a run for his money, he’ll admit. Cross had not once bottomed for _anyone_ and he sure as hell won’t be starting now. Even if this one was unfairly skilled and was so very distracting with the tongue lapping and teeth biting at his vertebrae. His neck was being teased so deliciously and fuck if he couldn’t already imagine what those would feel like on his ribs. _Or his spine_. He shuddered. 

And if he tilted his head a little more to the side so the other found that little spot that turned him into goo, well, that wasn’t anything they needed to know now was it? He was allowed to indulge his lover after all, especially if said lover was sending electricity down his mana lines with only a couple bites to the vertebrae and scratches to the spine. He’d take back control in a little while, he promised himself, grip short of bruising, as soon as this little gold gem left an opening for him to take.

_Dream was in heaven._

His beau was being so good to him, with those breathy pants directly beside his skull, teasing his already agitated magic. And he had barely even started! This was only the teaser to the main event! Hell there wasn’t even foreplay yet! And the beauty he had saddled himself on was already painting quite the mental picture with his sounds alone. He leaves an open-mouthed love bite on his playground for his lover to discover, the same place that made him melt. Dream leans back to give the other a bit of breathing room, both so he can admire their state (which he does with a satisfied purr) and to check on their wellbeing. This little game of theirs wasn’t going to be any fun for either of them if his beau was uncomfortable at any point in their play after all. Hopefully he’d made a compelling case—he _really_ wanted to take this someplace else, with his partner’s consent of course, and maybe get their number out of them. He had a feeling his magic wasn’t letting this one go, not anytime soon.

“Hnnh?”

Oh. Now wasn’t that embarrassing. Cross was almost sure he had never made that sound before today in his entire life, but tonight was also constantly throwing surprises at him, so was another one really that unexpected? The stranger—he really should ask for their name—was moving to properly straddle him, legs to either side of his own. He was taller than Cross now, spine straight and looking absolutely delicious. Cross kept his hands on their waist, leaning up to press a quick kiss on the other’s jaw with a murmur of _“Want to continue this somewhere else?”_

Dream almost let his eye lights burst into hearts.

“I’d be more than happy to,” he growled out, “but first, **lover** , we dance.” And he smoothly dismounted from his place, startling his beau and starting the chase. Dream was going to make him work for his prize, first. He set out towards the dance floor, hips swaying and steps confident, leaving Cross to gaze in hunger and slight confusion after him. Was that an invitation? Did Cross want it to be an invitation? And more importantly, _just where did his prey think he was going?_

Decision made and intent on claiming what the other had so teasingly dangled out of his reach Cross stood. He wanted those golden lights on him and nobody else.

_The game was on._

Dream had the perfect vantage point to see the almost instant change in behavior his ‘predator’ had, his grin almost splitting his skull. Finally! He could only go so long with the teasing. He’s had his fun. It was his lover’s turn—and if Dream played his cards right, they’d be _playing_ this game of theirs a lot longer.

But that was planning better left for Tomorrow Dream. Tonight Dream was going to tease the fuck out of his beau, and he was going to do it with style. 

Good thing he had such good friends!

"Heya Inker. Did the thing. Help me?" He said with a tiny pout, eyes wide and hands clasped in front of him. He needed assistance if he wanted to put his plan to action.

"Hey Dreamer! Nice work." Ink greets him with a cheeky smile, his eye lights a green square and orange swirl. "What did you have in mind?"

Dream had to be quick. He could spy his beau weaving his way around bodies, getting closer and closer with every step. He turns back to Ink, who by now has seen the hunk of a skeleton coming their way and gives Dream an impressed whistle, brows wiggling suggestively.

"Oh wow Dreamer. _Nice work indeed._ "

"Ink please, I'll tell you more over movie night." Dream pleads. "Do you think we should get Blue for this?" 

The artist jumps and grabs Dream, speeding away with a yell of _"I have a great idea!"._

Dream turns back his head to look for his playmate, a gloved hand reaching out in a come-hither motion towards Cross—who was slightly concerned by how his partner was currently being dragged by another skeleton towards an unoccupied table.

Ink tugs his arm and spins him so he ends up with the table edge digging into his spine. He doesn't get the chance to ask his artsy friend why before he's _hefted up_ onto said table without so much as a warning! His beau was looking more concerned by the minute and Dream doesn't blame him--anyone who didn't know Ink would assume his actions were meant to be malicious. Instead, he gives a small gentle smile, the opposite of the sharp cocky smirk he wore earlier, and Cross calms down. His partner wasn't in danger and he assumed the game was still on, judging by the way he almost crashes down on top of the other when he's yanked into another, deeper kiss is any hint.

Cross wanted a proper taste, and Dream wanted to tease him into being a little _more_. More of what exactly, he didn't know. He just wanted his lover a little closer, push him a little further--see where they could reach. And Cross delivered; his talented lover teasing Dream back tenfold. 

"Geez, guys at least make people pay for watching the show."

_Dream was going to murder a bitch._

He broke the kiss to glare at his best friend, star eye lights promising murder as he growls.

"Ink. _What in the Void are you doing?_ "

And Ink, the gremlin that he was, only laughed and showed off his findings--shoving a bottle of _G's Spicy Vodka Blend_ in his face and ignoring how Cross sputtered at the offending bottle blocking his sight. "I got you your favorite~", he sang, explaining nothing.

"What's that anyway?" Cross speaks up, breath heavy but also wanting to see where this went. He's heard and had a lot of different kinds of alcohol but he's never seen this one.

"You've never had one of G's blends?" the strange skeleton gapes at him. "Dream can you believe this? We've gotta give him a shot!"

Huh. Looks like he won't be asking for their name now. _Dream_ rolls his eye lights (when did they turn into stars?) with a slight frown and Cross is hit by a wave of familiarity. He thinks he's seen that particular expression somewhere before, but where? He shakes his head to dislodge the thought, knowing that it'll be bugging him for the rest of the night if he dwells on it, and tunes back in to see what the duo had in store for him.

Dream—and wasn't that a fitting name for him?—was currently pouring himself a shot and knocking each back without pause. Cross absently wondered what kind of drunk the tiny skeleton he was planning on claiming for the night would be when he notices a shot of honey-colored liquid being held towards him. He looks up at Dream, who looked like the picture of sobriety, and takes the shot, following the other's example and knocking it back.

_He's never regretted a decision more in his life._

The shot burned the entire way down, choking him and almost making him hack up the lungs he didn't have. His eye lights watered, and his magic felt like lava erupting through his mana lines. He wheezed and sent a betrayed look to his lover. He was dimly aware of the tattooed skeleton laughing at him, seeing him bend himself over out the corner of a socket. But what he focused on was Dream's slightly horrified and worried face.

"-Ink this was not what I meant by help! Why are you still here- I told you to get him some monster candy! You know how bad the first shots burn!"

"PFFFFF! Ha! His _face_ Dreamy! Oh, Creators _I can't breathe-_ " His friend was reduced to a teary giggling mess, leaving Dream to tend to his poor lover.

"Oh, I'm so so sorry lover," the worried skeleton cupped his face, "I forgot that was a thing that happened with G's spiced blends!"

Cross could only laugh at his fretting, raising a hand to cover a gloved hand and twining their phalanges together. 

"Don't worry, _lover_. 'm fine." He places a skeleton kiss on his captive, nuzzling his lover's knuckles against his cheek. 

Dream gives him a Look. "You don't _sound_ fine! Your voice is raspy as hell!"

Ink--being the ever-helpful friend he is--pipes up, out of breath.

"Why don't you just heal him if you're so worried Dreamy?"

Dream stares at the artist and smacks his palm on his skull with a groan.

"I can't believe I didn't think of that!"

"Heh, you're welcome~"

"Shut your mouth Ink. Don't you have anywhere else to be?"

Ink gives a last giggling response, a teasing huff and an _"I'll just go then. Have fun~!"_ and vanishing into the crowd of bodies. Dream sighs and looks back to Cross, an apology on the tip of his conjured tongue before he's silenced once again by his lover's distracting mouth.

"Can we take this somewhere a little more private now, _Dream?_ " Cross murmurs between them, reclaiming his prize's mouth before he could respond.

"One more shot, lover, and then we can dance wherever you'd like." Dream purrs back at him, eye lights back to being golden pools instead of stars.

"The name's Cross, beautiful." He says in reply, wanting to hear how his name rolled off the other's tongue. "And bring the bottle with us. Not like anyone's going to miss it," he adds. The drink burned like nothing else, but he couldn't deny it was _good._

_"Cross then."_ His lover smiled at him, dangerous and inviting. _"Shall we dance now?"_

Cross doesn't need to answer him. The way he kisses Dream like a man starved is answer enough, and he whisks them away from the peering eyes at the club—  
—completely forgetting about how he left his other companions, who were pests on their own but a complete menace together, to their own devices.

Nightmare's card wasn't going to be happy about the multitude of alcoholic drinks charged to it, nor was its owner going to be pleased that Cross actually left the idiots behind to do whatever.

But that wasn't his problem tonight. That was for Tomorrow Cross to deal with, Void have mercy on him, because Nightmare certainly had none to spare.

Oh well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> something different(?)

Ink could not feel.

Not without his vials—and even then they were poor imitations.

So it should not have come as such a surprise when he became someone nobody remotely recognized.

Not when they never knew him. Not when not one of his so-called _allies_ had ever cared to peel back his exterior or attempt to understand him at his lowest. They were his allies because they rode on his coattails. Because they were praised and loved and looked upon for guidance because of his actions. It was a long time before he realized it, the way they treated him like he was a project—but with eyes like those, it was no wonder he got strung along so effortlessly. He was naïve and endlessly curious when they approached him, and he wanted so desperately for someone to hold his hand and guide him. They were happy to take him under their wings, happy to have someone do the work while they reaped the spoils, and he was happy for their presence.

He shouldn’t have been.

He regretted it now, the way he so blindingly went along with all of their demands, only to be told that he should’ve been better, more suited to them.

It was always the same. _Ink, make more of this for me, please?_ So he does. _Ink this wasn’t what I wanted! Can’t you do it again?_ And he did. _I want something new and cool! So I can show it to my other friends!_ Anything for them. _It’ll make me so happy! You want me to be happy, don’t you?_ Of course he did! _I knew I could count on you! Make it better this time alright?_

He grew so sick of it all.

So he left.

And he was condemned for it.

The screaming and the yelling was the worst, he remembered. Angry voices and hurtful words, over and over again, without any kind of reprieve. He begged the stars—he didn’t know what for—but he begged them.

He begged for anyone to take him away—far, far away. Far enough where he could not see them, or hear them preferably, but he’d take what he could get.

He just wanted _away._

It took time, but the stars heard all. And they delivered.

Another of his kind appeared, but that was not unusual. There were many like him after all, arriving in waves from broken, unsalvageable worlds.

But none had ever remotely come close to being as ~~insane~~ odd as he.

But then he saw them.

This new one was like him in many ways, he found, but they were also somehow each other’s opposite.

Where he liked a little chaos, this one liked order.

He liked the variety and bright colors, the other preferred the blankness of plain white.

When he went to reach for the heights, this other one staunchly refused him and stayed right where he was—claiming to be content.

Ink did not understand.

He could not understand.

But this other one taught him.

This other one, who was so much like another him and yet not, taught him what they claimed he had no use learning.

Like emotions.

He had never felt this lightness in his chest cavity before, and he came to know the feeling as happiness. He asked the other why he had never felt it before, but they had no answer for him—their face set into stone like it so often was when his other was displeased. _Anger,_ he was told _, is not an easy emotion. Don’t lose yourself to it, and you will grow._

He told the other he was familiar with anger but had no name for it. _The others I told you about are sometimes angry with me, I think,_ Ink tells him one day, while they lay beneath a tree beside each other. _Their faces turn really red and they start screaming at me._ He faces them. _Is anger always that scary?_

Like before, his other has no answer for him, too lost in the implications of what he just told them, and he lets them be.

They spend the rest of the day playing under the tree, and Ink is happy.

\---

But now, as he watched the events around him, his other’s hand in his, he wonders if this was what it felt like to be truly happy.

  
They had been planning this day for a while now, he and his other. He remembers the day that solidified them as one.

Ink had approached them one day with a question, and they looked him in the sockets and he was almost afraid they would finally leave him after all this time.

His other stared at him with those eye lights he had come to adore and told him,

_For you? I would gladly let the world burn._

That day, Ink remembered why he loved his other so much.

They understood him.

They completed him.

They made him whole.

And he learned he could not be without his other—he did not think he could bear to, not after learning his other loved him so fiercely, so wholly in return.

He would not be standing today if his other were not with him, beside him, as they should be.

The screaming still echoed, and he still hated it, but he could continue to bear it, he thinks, as he glances to his other—grin wide and eyes manic as they laugh over the ruins below them, hand still clutched in his—and he does not remember a time where they looked so ethereal in their beauty, bathed in the ichor of their enemies and the sins of their passions. Ink smiles at his other, and holds tighter.

No, he does not mind the screaming, not when his love looked so at home in their insanity.

_I love you,_ he whispers.

_I know,_ they smirk at him.

Ink is happy. He hears what they don’t say.

_And I, you._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh..made a thing? its just about 600 words but i ran out of coherent thought to add to it so
> 
> take it off my hands pls
> 
> (might add more to it later but we'll see dfsdkslkf)

It was slightly worrying how fast Death caved whenever Geno pulled _That Look_ on him.

He wasn’t even exaggerating. All it took was a little glancing up with that wide, pitifully wobbling eye light and Death was doing whatever it is that had been asked of him without thought.

So when that specific thing happened again, he wasn’t really that surprised. Alarmed was the better word for it. 

Alarmed was the perfect word for it, considering Geno had gotten Death to agree to a blind date he’d set up for the elder. 

The elder the glitch himself was in a relationship with. 

The god who was now questioning everything he had ever known about Geno’s people (manipulating) skills over a cup of deliciously brewed coffee. In a café Geno had picked out for his blind date.

How did he get into these situations?

A text distracted him. _Stop being so stressed! You’ll scare him off!_

Ah. That’s right. Geno. His glitch was probably one of the few things he loved in his immortal life, but he was also a pain in Death’s ass. An adorable pain usually, but still a pain.

“Hi there! I’m looking for Reaper? Is that you? Love your outfit by the way!”

And in times like this, Death is reminded why he loves his little glitch anyway. The skeleton he sees can only be described as a budding artist—if the many smudges and stains on his denim overalls (those were going to be a bitch to get out, he thinks) had anything to say. The other had what looked like an ink smudge on his cheek, and unthinkingly, Death reached out to rub it off, only to be surprised when it didn’t disappear even as he thumbed at it slightly harder.

“What-? Oh! Yeah that doesn’t come off of me,” the strange little skeleton says with a laugh, and it startles him enough to yank back his hand with a slightly panicked look (not that he noticed, but the other had. It was oddly endearing how awkward his date was, and they hadn’t known each other that long!)

His mind returns to him, and Death is frozen, sockets wide. “Name’s Ink! Nice to meet you!” and the _still somehow alive_ , suddenly dainty looking skeleton smiles at him as he takes a seat, and Death locks on to the frappucino with the most whip cream he’s ever seen on a beverage. The skeleton doesn’t even look fazed, and it hits the god that this monstrosity was his date’s drink.

“How’d you get them to put so much?” he blurts out, empty sockets wide and distantly thinks that, if Geno were here, he’d slap the elder upside the skull and apologize for his lack of a filter. 

But as stated previously, Geno was not in fact here, and so Death was left to awkwardly fumble his way through polite conversation on his own. Which would be all fine and good, if he could actually _make a proper attempt._

The skeleton blinked at him, then “So much of what?” before “Oh! The whipped cream! They didn’t actually, they never do. No matter how many times I ask them,” he continues, grumbling to himself, and before Death can process anything his date continues to give him whiplash by flashing a sudden bright smile and an actual container of whip cream waving in his face with an inquiry of “Would you like some? I carry it wherever just in case I get a craving.”

It hits him then: Ink was alive. 

His date was Immortal! 

Death laughs.

“Sure, why not?”


	5. Chapter 5

It was white.

Then it was black.

Always one or the other in the emptiness.

Was there anything else here? He didn’t know. He didn’t feel like doing any exploring.

**_INK_ **

A voice?

**_INK YOU BASTARD WAKE UP_ **

Ink?

**_SQUID!_ **

Squid?

**_COME BACK TO ME ALREADY DAMNED ARTIST_ **

Who was that voice? They sounded...pleading? How did he know what pleading was? Had he felt that before?

**_INKY_ **

No.

He couldn't feel. He knew that much. There wasn’t anything for him to feel for in this nothingness after all.

**_DONT YOU FUCKING DARE SLEEP NOW SQUID!_ **

Who the heck was that and why were they being so loud?

**_SQUID PLEASE!_ **

Where was that voice anyway? There was nothing where he was.

**_JUST A LITTLE LONGER KIKI_ **

Kiki?

What a funny name.

...

How did he know it was a name?

"Who?" His voice sounded scratched, and he cringed. Was it not meant to come out like that?

He tried again.

"Who?"

**_INKY? SQUID CAN YOU HEAR ME?_ **

_Yes_ he could hear but he didn’t know where it was coming from!

**_HANG ON A LITTLE LONGER KIKI_ **

Was...was he the Kiki the voice was talking to?

If he was, then who was _Ink_ and _Squid?_

“Who is?” he tried a third time.

**_WAIT FOR ME A LITTLE WHILE LONGER LOVER_ **

What was _lover?_ He was learning a lot of new words today wasn’t he?

Words didn’t usually sound that loud. These words and those other words sounded different too. This one sounded warmer, even though they also sounded a little weird.

The other voice was scary and made him feel cold in the dark space. Those words would usually only come in phrases too.

Things like _Destroy this one_ and _Do as I say_ and _Useless trash_ and _What kind of weakling are you, Protector?_

…

He didn’t like the other voice. The things it said made his core twist and turn something awful. He especially didn't like the things it made him do—when he had the ability to feel them anyway. It had more than once screamed at him wordlessly until he was tucked into a ball of himself, desperate to block out the noise in his skull, whenever he tried to disobey. 

He liked the new, warmer voice a lot more. That voice made something in him want. Want to move, want to do... _something_. But he had no strength in the empty space. He could only listen. Even as the weird voice made his empty core feel a little funny, wanting to reach out to the owner of the voice that made it spark.

It was another new in the empty space, and he was faintly curious. He'd never done that before. Had never felt his core spark for anything. Not even the cold dark voice made him aware of his own self. Only what he was doing, and even those were usually just a fluke. Sensations and half-memories triggered by outside influences, flitting past his empty self and the even emptier space he was in. Nothing really caught his attention as strongly as that weird voice had.

He wanted to know more.

**_KIKI? ARE YOU THERE?_ **

Ah. The warm one was back.

**_INK?_ **

Should he do the voice thing too?

"Lo!"

There was a funny sound, _a laugh_ his memories supplied, but he didn’t know how he knew what that was!

**_SQUID IM ALMOST DONE OKAY?_ **

Done with what? What was the warm voice doing?

**_YOU'LL BE SAFE SOON KIKI. JUST A FEW SECONDS LONGER._ **

Safe? Wasn’t he already safe? Nothing could hurt him in the empty. There was nothing but him. Did warm voice think he was going to hurt himself?

"Safe!"

That chuffing laugh again, though it sounded a little wet somehow, like warm voice didn’t know how to continue.

**_YEAH INKY. SAFE. COME BACK TO ME NOW LOVER._ **

Back? Back where? Was there anything in this empty?

**_YOU CAN DO IT KIKI_ **

He was confused. Do what?

**_YOUR TURN TO FIND ME, LOVER, FOLLOW MY VOICE._ **

And then there was that spark in his core again, pulling him forwards and making him balance himself on his arms. "Where?"

**_HOME KIKI. COME BACK HOME TO ME_ **

He had a home? An actual home? With this warm voice? That sounded awesome!

**_THAT'S THE WAY SQUID_ **

****

He was doing this right then. Well, looks like he had walking to do.

**_ALMOST THERE INKY_ **

****

Was he really? It felt like no time had passed at all, and yet he felt heavy in his own bones—like something was holding him in place.

**_JUST A BIT MORE_ **

The voice did sound a little louder and clearer. Maybe he was doing good after all. Oh, he couldn't wait to see what warm voice had for him! He had a feeling this voice would be where he was being led to. And he couldn’t wait to see this voice in person.

There was another new in the empty.

It was black now, but somehow there was also a circle of white. That had never been there before. It was one or the other, never has he seen both at the same time before.

Curious, he drew closer. The air felt warmer here too. Different from the cold in the empty. But wasn't he still in the empty? Why was there something new now? He wasn’t complaining. Just curious. He wanted to know more.

"White?" He tried calling for the warm voice. He wasn’t sure if it would reply—if it heard at all—but he was willing to try.

"White here?" He tried again. The warm voice was there, but there were no words he could understand. Only some weird sounds that nagged at him, making his core spark again, this time actually yanking his body towards the circle of white.

**_KI…CLOSER…..HOLD…..HERE_ **

The warm voice was fading! But was also getting closer? What? How did that work??

He had so many questions.

He walked towards the white in the black, because that’s where the voice seemed to be strongest when he saw one more _new!_

Today was just full of surprises, wasn’t it? He could see something in the circle. It looked like another black, except it wasn’t like the black empty.

This one had a shape, like him, but also not him. This new him not him also had new colors! Red and blue and yellow! More colors than he ever remembered seeing in the empty! This other shape took a step forward, and he did the same, now close enough to the white to touch it. The other him not him was taller than him, he had to look up to see their face.

"Voice? You?" He asks because his core was just short of flinging himself to the other but _he doesn’t understand why_.

“Hi Inky," the shape whispers, all yellow smiles and fuzzy eye lights, “I found you”.

It was the voice! The warm voice that made him feel fuzzy and funny! He made a choppy purr sound and walked up to the black him shaped other, headbutting the taller's middle.

"Let’s get you home, lover," Voice says, and he only nods, willing to go wherever if it meant having the warm voice by his side.

They walked further into the white circle, and disappeared from the emptiness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> why do i feel like writing whenever im specifically NOT supposed to be writing
> 
> *yeets this in your face and runs away*

He's afraid. Behind the elation and the high he was afraid. He doesn’t remember the last time he was affected by such a trivial matter. Has there ever been a time like that? Or has he simply never experienced such a time? Hilarious! Destroyer of Existence! Wielder of the cursed Blue Strings! Shaken by something as inconsequential as a smile!

(He does not remember a time where anyone had smiled at him so freely. Without malice and without judgment. His chest feels tight.)

No! He will not have it! He did not bow before the Gods. He refused to crumble before Death. He would not let a mere mortal affect him! He has lived his whole life in war! Amongst the bloodshed and the bloodlust of the desperate and the hungry! He has brought down empires! Entire worlds fear his name!

  
  


So why was this happening now?

  
  


This mortal who has seen nothing that he has, who should have been gone long before he’d found them in this blank hole of a world, bring to his chest a warmth he never knew he craved? Why did he long to hold them to him? Why does his Soul pull against his being? 

Who was this mortal?

Except, evidently, this one wasn’t just a mortal. If they were, they’d have gone along with their world when it perished under his Strings, and he’d be on his merry way.

But they had not, and he was not. So here they were.

The not-mortal’s smile never faded, even as he pulled them along with his Strings, even as they left the forgotten world behind, even as black liquid dripped from their own sockets in a mockery of tears. He said nothing and continued dragging along the other in his Strings. They had arrived in his domain, so similar to the blankness after the destruction of a world, and yet he found solace in the supposed thing he was supposed to be guilty of. He did not understand why he was to feel guilt. It was his duty was it not? The purpose of his creation? To eradicate what others were too weak to so that newer worlds would have room to grow stronger? He could erase them all from existence if he so wished, damn the pests that played god and crush them all!

He knew he could, he had more than enough power. They knew it too. And they were bitter and afraid and greedy for the power he carried, so he became the scapegoat. The one blamed and condemned for every minuscule problem. He had long grown past the hurt and the desperation for acceptance he used to crave so much. He’d been around for quite a number of centuries after all. He had no use for baseless opinions and weightless accusations. He had a job to do.

A thrumming from the strings reminds him of his ~~captive~~ ~~prisoner~~ _guest_ and he shifts to glance at them. They don’t acknowledge his attention, still crying those tar-like tears and phalanges tangling and untangling in his Strings. He doesn’t know if the color is just a really dark shade of their magic, or if it’s somehow turned corrupted. ~~He quiets the thought that sneers at him for tainting another innocent.~~

His domain is quiet today, he notes vaguely. No voices screaming at him from the worlds Beyond. No distractions from his directive. Save for one. “What is your title?”

His guest looks up at him. “Title…?”

“Yes, your title. What is it?” The Destroyer asks again, unusually patient.

“They…they gave me a name, Ink. Is that my title?”

It will have to do, he thinks. He only needed something to call the other by in his strange white void. Names held power and power tethered one to the present. Nameless things did not survive in his domain—they were often erased from existence without his aid. The void will take from anything and everything, forever consuming. He supposes that’s why he chose it as his domain.

No need to neutralize intruders if the void does it for him.

“Ink then. I am the Destroyer. Welcome to my void.” He may not be well-versed in polite interactions but he did have a grasp on the idea of manners. He wasn’t a heathen.

“Is that what I call you?” The- Ink says, “Kind of a mouthful.”

The Destroyer chuckles lowly, no soul has ever told him that before. To his face at the very least. He knew it was of course, but that was what he was best known by so he stuck to it. “I suppose it is. Do you wish to call me by another?” He wanted to see if it would be another slew of insults. Happened before. Maybe he’d hear a new one. He was tired of the same o-

“Error. I’ll call you Error.” Ink stated, nodding, “If that’s okay?” he hedged, once again fidgeting with his Strings.

Error. He…doesn't hate it. Huh. It fit surprisingly well with his person actually. And complimented his directive. Error. The others who play god were often changing their titles he knew but he never thought he’d do the same one day. Error. He liked it. He liked his new title. Error.

His mouth twitches. Error the Destroyer. It had a nice ring to it.

He says it aloud—this new title given by the equally new stranger. “Error. Error the Destroyer.” He throws back his skull and laughs, voice echoing in his space. He smiles wide at his guest, this Ink who made him feel a warmth he’d never felt and bows his head—something he’d sworn to himself never to do to anyone but himself.

“Thank you,” he’s never smiled this big before, “I shall use it from today onwards.”

Ink stares at him, tar tears long forgotten, caught off guard by the brightness in the other’s smile and the twinkling in their eyes before he grins back. “I’m glad you like it!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've reached the Mystery Support Line, for all your mysterious needs! 
> 
> Please hold! We'll be connecting you to our system in a minute.

There is a crackling static-like sound before the line connects…somewhere.

Ink finds he doesn't particularly care much.

(He doesn't care at all actually. He kind of can't. Not without his paints. It’s sort of his Thing™.)

And yet he still keeps up this strange routine he's found a semblance of comfort in, if only in its reliability. Creators know he needs at least one constant to latch onto to keep him from going batshit.

A click is heard in his living space. He starts as normal.

“Heya there.”

“…”

“It's been, what—five? Eight? —days since the last time? I think? I'm not so sure. Heh. You know me, trouble with the remembering thing.” He tries for a laugh, but the sound comes out more hollow than it is merry, so he stops.

“I'm not actually sure anyone is receiving? This? So, uhh, just in case somebody has been? Please say something? Or at least do something that tells me you've got this?”

He doesn’t know what he’s hoping to achieve. Evidence maybe? But evidence of what? His sanity? "Ha! What sanity?"

…

He should probably stop talking to himself if he wanted to appear ‘more or less mentally stable’—Dream’s words, not his!—to the rest of the unknowing Multiverse.

…

Nah.

Not like anyone was here to listen to him talk out loud right?

Besides, he’s always thought normality was a little overrated anyway. Being insane was so much more fun! And maybe a little problematic sometimes, but he likes to think of it as just another thing to add to his—admittedly somewhat numerous—baggage pile!

Just because he had literally no SOUL to speak of doesn’t mean he had no trauma after all!

(His body shudders in remembrance, breath hitching—he couldn’t _breathe he couldn’t move-! There was so much whitewhitewhitewhite everywhere he looked he couldn’t feel anything-!_ )

His phone nearly slips from his hand with how he jolts out of his thoughts—spine ramrod straight and eye lights blank—and tightening his grip in surprise, he focuses on the familiar sight of his living area. His faint trembling lessens as he spies more and more colors and none of that cursed, all-consuming white.

He firmly avoids looking out of his window, knowing from experience how quick he is to spiral back into an episode. Ink groans, “Freak yourself into another spiral why don’t you Inkblot?”, catching his aching skull with his palm as he complains to himself.

He hears loud static and the ever-present crackles from his phone’s speaker, reminding him of his current activity. He centers himself with a deep inhale before he continues, voice ragged and flatter than it had been before.

“Well, anyway, this was just a check-in? I guess? I don’t even know why I called,” he trails off, weirdly quiet. Void, he’s never felt this drained in a long while!

A quiet shift of movement is heard, followed by the dull _thunk_ of an impact.

“God, Ink what were you thinking—you knew this wouldn’t work.” Another groan.

“I guess that's it for today mystery line.” He stands from his place on the hardwood floor. “I'll go collapse on my mattress for a while, wait for work to do itself maybe,” he continues with a chuckle, “hope to the stars Nightmare has his hellions on a leash and Dream can wrangle his octopus of a brother while I pass out. Heh.” He’s reached his bedroom now and falls down on his bed as promised. A faint digital ping followed by what sounds like a printer beeping is heard in the room. It quiets down, and the crackling comes back fainter than before.

Funny. He feels like he should be able to recognize the sounds from his phone’s speaker somehow. He’ll think about it tomorrow if he remembers. He snorts. _Unlikely._

“…bye then.”

Click.

\---

In another void, there is quiet where a tired voice once echoed.

The receiver ignores the always present background of crackles and static and tucks the phone into a modified inside pocket of a dark blue coat. He slumps and molds his shape into his nest deeper, opening a window to the Multiverse, where he had a front-row seat to enjoy the various kinds of shenanigans the idiots that run amok without its keeper end up in.

He could afford to take a day off, now that his only problem was (momentarily) incapacitated. He firmly denies the ball of discomfort in his chest cavity at the artist’s state. That squid-brained idiot was bound to burn himself out sooner or later. It appears that today was apparently _sooner_.

(He was not worried. It wasn't like he noticed how sluggish the other's movements were, he has no time for it when in battle—where, coincidentally, if his strings were significantly less cutting and more restraining that wasn't anybody's business. Because he wasn't worried at all. Nope. Not one bit.)

…

(He's lying.)

It's not as if he could just cocoon the stupid bastard and throw his overworking ass into the anti-void until he gets his ink splattered cranium out of his coccyx and _takes care of himself for once—_

…

Well. Now that he’s thinking about it…

Nothing's actually stopping him from doing just that is there?

Hmm. That's a thought to chew on for later.

For now, though, the error steals a chocolate bar out of a convenient portal and hunkers down for an overdue case of self-care and chill.

_‘The stupid inkblot would benefit from learning a thing or two about it.’_

He grunts and sharply shakes off the intruding thought, slightly irritated. He decides to tell a certain, heh, _bluebird_ about his friend's abysmal health habits—he can hear Blue’s voice already, and feels the looming threat of a migraine with it—and ignores how the prickly feeling in his chest recedes slightly. He picks out the latest episodes of Undernovela, and settles down.

Crackles of static echo in the white void.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zsfxdcghbkjl finally scratched that AfterDeath itch
> 
> ((i put in a little something extra winkwink))
> 
> if you didnt sing it when u got to it
> 
> ur still valid uwu

It was a good day.

Scratch that, it was a _great_ day!

He was feeling better than he had in literal _weeks_ , and frankly, he wasn’t going to let anything bring him down today of all days! He’d been so productive his brothers were getting suspicious! But his Soul had never felt this light before, so heck yes he was going to finally Get Shit Done. He didn’t care if his friends were looking at him like he had a second skull. So what? They wouldn’t understand how constantly draining it was with his…everything.

They couldn’t, and he hoped they never would.

But fuck if he wasn’t so fucking giddy, he could skip the entire day. 

“Geno, stop your damn giggling. You’re scaring people.” 

Geno looked to his left, meeting the deadpan stare with a smile brighter than the sun. He hadn’t even realized he was actually giggling! Stars, how embarrassing!

“Sorry! I can’t help it E,” he tells his brother, still grinning. This is the best day he’s had in a while! “I’m just so excited! Oh, I can’t wait!”

“Yes you can.” Error rolls his eyes, “The observatory isn’t going to grow legs and run from us when we see it, so calm the fuck down.” He ignores how tiny trickles of DT and mana drip onto the pathway—a rhythmic _plip-plip-plip_ that showed their path as they walked. It would attract a lot more attention if the spots didn’t eventually fizzle out of existence, as was the nature of the glitches. “What’s got you so hyped up anyway? It can’t only be the observatory, so spill.”

Geno didn’t even bother denying it, only giving his scowling brother a sing-song _“Wouldn’t you like to know~”_. To which Error only grunted at, shaking his head. He knew Geno well enough to understand that when he wanted to keep a secret, he would do so infuriatingly well, the stubborn bastard that he is. One more trait they shared if one ignored their glitch lineage, obvious as it was.

The observatory had only opened earlier this year and Geno had already exhausted its exhibits on that same day when the thoughtful idiot he called a date-mate forgot to _buy the tickets_ for their weekly date night—opting to pick up the bleeding glitch and waltzing into the building without so much as a glance from the security personnel they passed at the entrance. Reaper—the sweet bastard that he was—floated up to a quieter level for Geno’s comfort and started their tour there, flirting with the smaller the entire way.

_“Hey, Gen look! They dedicated an exhibit to you. They even have directions to it and everything!”_

_“Reaper what are you on about now?”_

_His love only smirked at him, a lazy curl of the grin, before the god nodded to an arrow beside Geno. One of the many that showed the directions of different exhibits. The arrow Reaper pointed out to him had **‘Natural Wonders’** carved into it in bold looping cursive. Geno turned back to his lover—exasperatedly flattered—and saw Reaper wink at him, cheeky in the way he usually was whenever he got to draw out Geno’s cherry red blush._

_“Bastard.”_

_It sounded full of affection even to him, but it was worth letting the tone slip when Reaper’s smirk mellowed into a genuine, happy thing that Geno wanted to see on his love for eternity._

“Ugh—come on!” He doesn’t drag Error, knowing how his brother was bound to react, and instead settled for pleading with his one good socket for his fellow glitch to _pick up the fucking pace_. “If we get there any later the ice cream cakes are going to be less cakey and more crappy,” he teases, knowing that food was a good motivator to get the other to do what he wanted.

He didn’t care if it looked like he was manipulating the other—because he kind of was—but there was nothing else that would push him to do the task in the first place, so Geno felt it justified.

“Chocolate?” It was downright precious how quick the feared destroyer perked up at the possibility of his all-time favorite sweet. He’d eaten through more than what Geno thought possible (and healthy) when they gathered what felt like half the multiverse’s chocolate supply that one time. Error’s cravings were no laughing matter. Luckily that fiasco only lasted a week, and he was grateful. AU hopping for chocolate of all things was something he never thought he’d be doing, but such is the way of cravings.

“Yes,” but he wouldn’t mention how cute it was to Error’s face, “there is chocolate.” 

“Why the fuck didn’t you say so earlier?!”

“But Error I-!” He didn’t have the chance to protest (as he was quite literally tangled up at the moment) before Error dropped them both into a pixelated portal. They ended up at the observatory’s doorstep and Geno finally spat the strings in his mouth _out_ to let out a garbled mess of a sentence even he didn’t know what conveyed.

Except that Error was too excited for chocolate to spare a thought to the cocooned Geno and kicked the double doors open like the maniac he is, startling the mix of monsters and people inside the lobby. “Where’s the chocolate, Geno.” The glitching was more pronounced now, caught off guard with the number of people present.

Geno huffed from his bonds. “You’d have known to ‘port to the rooftop—" and they were gone.

“—if you bothered listening to me.” He sighs, skull dropping. At least they finally got to the place. And before sundown too. He’d count that as a win.

“We’re at the damned rooftop.” Error all but growls. “Where is the chocolate. Tell me _now_.”

“Get me out of this shit and I will,” Geno retorts, smirking at Error’s offended _“FUNK YOU!”_ and horrified yell of _“THE PARASITE IS HERE?”_.

“Yo broski! Long time no see!” the aforementioned parasite slides over beside his recoiling adopted brother and shoots them finger guns, glasses reading **HEYA** in bright blocky colors. 

“Wiggidywazzup Geno bruh!”

Geno gives him a small but genuine grin. “Hello Fresh, good to see you made it.” He looks his other brother over and his grin widens. “I love your new clothes by the way!”

“Thanks, bruh! Error bro made ‘em for me last week!” he jabs a thumb in Error’s direction. “Thanks again broski! These new threads got me feelin’ extra fresh!”

Geno glances slyly to his grumbling glitch of a brother, who glares at him in retaliation.

“What’s that look for? Aren’t you glad your sockets aren’t bleeding?” he snarks, arms crossed.

He could see a slight coloring of blue on the other’s cheeks and decides against teasing him, knowing it would most likely set his inner tsundere off, and settled for a nod on instead, a smile on his skull. His single eye light wandered around the place. “Remind me to thank whoever spruced up the place, E. They did amazing!”

Error only rolled his eyes again—seriously he did that so much his eye lights were going get stuck someday. “Like you don’t already know who glitch. And don’t say that to his face, the squid’s enough of a smug bastard as he is.”

“Remind me anyway,” Geno shot back, “Ink deserves it! The rooftop looks beautiful!”

And it really was. He could see traces of Ink’s trademark—well, _ink_ —in one puddle off the pebbled pathway and he made a mental reminder to give the artist a thank you gift. Even if the other would probably forget about it. Oh, he should make Ink another pie! He looked like he enjoyed his last recipe, so that and a pair of gloves? He could put Error’s knitting lessons to the test! 

“Anyway, Fresh have you seen Reaper?” Geno asks, looking around and faking nonchalance. He was only slightly worried he couldn’t see the god among the rest of their gathered family and friends. “He hasn’t called me since lunch, and he hasn’t responded to my last text. He always responds to my texts!” He knew that work had picked up lately but Reaper always at least texted him back!

“Reaper brah said he’d be here ‘fore sundown,” Fresh tells him, grin ever-present, glasses reading **YOLO**. Nothing unusual. “Said to tell ya ta quit your worryin’ and ta enjoy yer dope party!”

Geno would firmly deny that he was pouting, but that was what he ended up doing. Could you blame him? He missed his stupid skele-god dammit! For good measure, he crossed his arms too.

“He’d better get here in time. He was the one who bothered with all this.”

Oddly enough, it was Error who talked down his worries, scoffing at him. “Like he’d miss anything related to you, dumbass. Now where the FUNK is my DANK chocolate?”

“Oh! Geno, hello! You’re finally here!” A blur of blue and gray buzzed in place next to him and Geno laughed, pulling the excitable swap Sans into a hug that was returned with an enthusiastic _MWEHEHE!_ “We were about to bring out the cakes!”

“Hi, Blue! We’re not late-late, right? We would’ve been here earlier if a certain somebody hadn’t been dragging his feet the entire time!”—to which Error flipped him off, already piling his plate with everything chocolate—and Blue giggled.

“Yes, I had thought so! It’s far from you to be late after all.” Blue replied, smile wide. “Ink was getting harder to hold back from redecorating the entire place.”

“You should have known better than to place him in charge of decorations,” a regal voice added, “though he did put up rather tame arrangements—considering his disposition to art.”

Wasn’t this a nice surprise! “Life! It’s so great to see you!”

The Toriel of Reaper’s world was nothing short of radiant, dressed in her flowing white garbs—although she appeared to be wearing a woven crown of flowering vines. That was new. “Hello Geno, wonderful to see you as well. The others send their regards,” her smile dropped a little, “but as you know, I cannot stay long. I must ask, how are you faring these days?”

Blue excused himself then, wishing to give his greetings to his other glitch of a friend—and to also maybe grab a slice of cake for himself but that was beside the point—leaving with a promise of getting together for tea someday soon, and Geno waved him off before turning back to Life. “Doing loads better than I used to, for one. How are you and the others? I haven’t seen them in so long!”

Life laughed, saying, “The others are doing rather well. War is still a mess in front of Knowledge, Death the Younger is still a joy to be around, and the children are quickly becoming little chefs in the kitchen. But enough of the pleasantries! I’ve missed our little tea parties!”

“You mean you miss my gossip,” Geno quipped with a playful nudge, “Nevermind that you have literally every connection there is to have with the rumor mill.”

Life gasped, a paw dramatically on her bosom, “Geno! I do not gossip! I merely wish to inquire upon the happenings of the latest antics your amusing circle often end up in!”

Geno scoffed, amusement in his voice, “Exactly. Gossip.” And they erupted in peals of laughter, Life’s bleating only serving to make Geno wheeze for breath harder.

Stars he’s missed this! Life was always such fun to be around! “I’ve missed our chats as well,” he finally says, voice still breathy, “we should let Blue come with one of these days. I know you’ll love _his_ connections.”

Geno’s eye light was twinkling—knowing from experience how much Life loved a good story almost as much as she loved her baking. “You’ll love his tea blends too, promise.”

Life was still giggly, though she tried smothering it behind one paw, “I’m sure I will, it has your approval after all. Let me know when you wish to visit, and I shall make arrangements.”

Geno could feel a slight ache in his chest but pushed past it. He knew the Celestials weren’t meant to be outside their realms for trivial matters, so it already meant a lot that Life was here. That didn’t mean he didn’t wish she could stay longer. Instead, he told her, “Yeah, I’ll make sure to visit soon then! Thanks for dropping by Life. Until next time.”

Life knew him too well not to notice the drop in his mood but didn’t mention anything of it, letting him send her off with a smaller smile than earlier. “Until next time, my friend.” And she went in a cloud of silvery-white mist. He’d been surprised the first time it happened but was quick to remember that Life was a goddess, and thus had very strong magic. Sometimes he forgot he was friends with (a lot of) overpowered fuckers. 

He knew he was a glitch in the system. So were his adopted brothers for that matter! He was dating the god of Death, often had get-togethers with the goddess of Life, friends with the Guardians of the Multiverse, had connections to some of the smartest minds in it, and that didn't account for the connections _his_ connections had!

It felt like he was in an anime sometimes. The multitude of Alphys and Undyne alternates he'd met were rubbing off on him. _Wonderful_.

He palmed at his skull in equal parts annoyance and amusement. His life was one trope after another wasn't it? He wasn't complaining—okay he was, only a little bit—he's had some pretty great adventures to think back on after all. And a general good time too! 

(Mostly anyway. He'd prefer if the 'genocide loop on all his loved ones' business never happened but eh. Not like he had the power to change shit this far in the game. That was a whole other clusterfuck of a time he'd rather not dwell on today.)

So pushing that sour thought to the far, far back of his skull he steps past the lingering cloud of mist Life left, the excess magic in it sticking to him and adding to his magic well. The cool feeling on his bones that reminded him of a certain bird-brained individual was merely an added perk.

“Geno~!”

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.

Geno sighs, feeling the worry in his Soul shard unwind into a soft warmth he only ever felt with his stupid, adorably charming bastard troll of a lover. “Reaper.”

Death the Elder was a step behind him, hovering in the same spot Life’s mist was a second before, raven wings spread in a familiar show. “I’ve missed you lovely~ So much~”

Geno crossed the space between them, his love’s arms wind around him in response and feeling rather than hearing Reaper’s pleased purring. “So warm~”

“That’s because your colder than ice, bird-brain.” But he wasn’t complaining, snuggling further into Reaper’s cloak with a sigh. “Why are your clothes always so soft and comfortable?” he grumbled, nearly slipping into a pout before he forced a half-scowl on his face instead. “It’s not fair.”

“Pet names already? I just got here sweets, but if you really want~” Geno reached up and smacked his skull but Reaper only laughed at him. “I don’t know dear, seeing as half of my clothes have somehow migrated into your side of the closet.”

“It’s not my fault your clothes are weirdly comfortable!” The scowling glitch defended face flushed, “And they smell like you too.” He continued in a near whisper, feeling his face burn at the admission.

And in true Reaper fashion, the god all but melted even more into his smaller date-mate, purring louder. “Aw, have you been missing me Gen~?”

He could work with this. “You’ve been away longer,” he mumbled, and as expected, Reaper wilted. “I know you can’t control it but I…” _I miss you._

“I’m sorry babe,” Reaper nuzzled him, apologetic, “but I’ve got good news!” He pulled back with an endearingly adorable grin. “I finally got Ass-gore to lighten up! We have an actual, properly set schedule for reaping now!” The god resembled a puppy more and more and Geno was confused.

His singular eye light widened when he finally got the picture and he gave his love a grin back, hopeful and excited and so very happy.

“He approved your proposal? He really did it?!” He couldn’t believe it! “Reaps! I’m so happy for you!” Geno launched himself back into the god’s embrace (not like he left it in the first place) and they laughed merrily, Reaper twirling around with his lover wrapped in his wings.

They floated back down in a slow circle, Reaper pressing his skull to Geno’s with an unstable grin. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Beloved. So really, the credit must go to you.”

Reaper left Geno standing on the ground again, and he pulled away from the glitch’s hold, with a winning smile that left Geno warm inside. The glitch put his arms around his own waist, needing something to ground him, willing it not to be a dream. Stars above this day was going even better than he thought it would! His mood was already up when it started, and he’d gotten to be with all of his loved ones, and now Reaper’s ass of a boss finally gained brain cells! “You won’t have to be working yourselves to the _bone_. Or to the _Death._ Or to an _early grave._ ”

Okay, maybe that last one was a bit of a stretch, but seeing Reaper double over made it more than worth the glitched groaning Error let out in response to the puns.

“Y-y0uR pUn g4mE iS-s As weAk aS-As EveR g7iTch face,” he said, a bowl of something in his hands.

“I’d like to see you do better!” Geno replied, arms crossing.

Error only scoffed. “wHA-atEver. ReApeR y0u- yoU- you going to get started with it anytime soon?”

“Don’t rush the dude E-bro! He’s nervous as is!” Fresh poofed beside him, startling Error into a short glitch-out. “We'll be rooting for ya Death dude!”

Was there something Geno was missing? Why would Reaper need to be nervous? He turned back to his lover. “Reaps what are-”

And promptly had his knees nearly abandon him and send him to the floor. Reaper was still behind him, still hovering, still with his beautiful raven wings—but this time looking up at Geno, with little sweat droplets of magic dotted on his slightly blue face. Was he for real? Geno took a shuddering breath, socket feeling wet and eye light a wavy heart.

“Reaper…?”

His love—his beautiful, stupid, adorable Reaper—was down on one knee, presenting the glitch with a tiny white box opened to show off the most beautiful sapphire he’d ever seen. Reaper gave him a gentle smile—stars above he felt shaky enough already without his lover’s stupidly charming smile—before he exhaled.

“Geno, Beloved, you- heh don’t cry Gen, I haven’t even started yet.” Fuck was he crying? Actually crying?? Stupid Reaper had the nerve to fucking laugh at him too! Granted it was more of a chuckle but still! “Fuck you!” he croaked out, and- yep he was crying. He could feel the path his tears made. Stupid hormones, stupid sappy Reaper, stupid stupid stupid—!

“Heh, maybe later love,” and _oh_ if Reaper’s tone didn’t immediately put his already overflowing hormones into overdrive. “Geno, will you marry me?”

Ah fuck it. He was already crying anyway, might as well go all out. “Yes! Yes, I will you stupid, stupid god!” he blubbered, launching himself for the second time into his lover’s arms, hearing the cheers and the merrymaking around them both. His laughter was a watery sound, matching Reaper’s elated chant of _“He said yes! Geno said yes!! I get to marry the love of my life!!!”_ and fuck all if that didn’t make him cry harder, clinging to his stupid bird-brained lover.

_Reaper’s my fiancé now. And I’m his._ It was all that was running through his head. _Reaper’s my fiancé! We’re getting married! Fuck, he’s going to be my husband! We’re getting married!!!_

“Reaps we’re getting married!” he exclaimed, still laughing wetly, as he held his _soon-to-be-husband’s_ —stars wasn’t that a dizzying thought—skull closer to his own, echoing the nuzzle Reaper had done earlier. “Stars above I love you so much,” Geno whispered, crying a little less now, and he reached for Reaper’s hand, momentarily ignoring the one that held the little white box. He laced their fingers together, Reaper still nuzzling him, and held both their hands to his midsection. “I know they will too, they already do.”

Reaper froze. Lightless sockets locking onto his, moving down to where their hands joined and meeting Geno’s tear-filled gaze once more. He did this several more times, lingering more and more on his middle before he whispered out a shaky _“Geno?”_

“We’re going to be a family soon, Reaps. You’re going to be a daddy.” Geno whispered in turn, gripping tight to Reaper’s ice-cold hand in his. For a minute, the only thing Reaper could hear was ringing, before the sentence clicked into his mind and his wings opened up in shock, displacing a gust of wind that disturbed their guests.

“I’m going to be a daddy. Geno’s pregnant? I’m going to be a daddy!” and so the rooftop went quiet before louder cheering and shouts of congratulations deafened them. Reaper looked back from Geno’s face to his still-flat middle before asking. “How long have you known?”

Geno smiled sheepishly at him, skull beet red from the attention, “A month or so.”

“Geno you should’ve told me!” Reaper scolded, a couple of inches off the ground, as both of their loved ones mingled, giving them a chance to bask in their elation as newly engaged _and_ soon-to-be-parents.

“I’m not sorry.” He stuck his tongue out. “And I just did!”

“Not for a month you didn’t!” Reaper stuck out his tongue in retaliation, before softening and snuggling his glitch closer to him. “You really love to keep me on my toes, don’t you sweets?”

A quiet murmur. “Stars I almost can’t believe it.”

Geno could relate. “Well, you better! I’ve been craving so many fruits from Life’s garden lately, and Respite can only make so many deliveries before he gets called away.”

More laughter. “Is that where he disappears to? No wonder he and Life were all buddy-buddy out of the blue. They acted terribly close when we last visited.” Reaper sighs, dropping his skull into the crook of Geno’s neck. “You’ve blessed me with so much, Geno.”

Stupidly sappy Reaper. “If you keep being so sweet, I might lose my appetite.” Geno gave the side of his love’s skull a small kiss. “Now let me go. I have ice cream cakes calling my name.”

Reaper whined before floating them both to the cake table. “I wanna hold you more!”

How dare Reaper use those puppy eyes on him. It was a battle, but Geno was finally able to look away with a huff. “We can cuddle more later. I want cake.”

It was a losing battle. Cravings were no laughing matter by themselves. But cravings paired with hormones? It was Geno’s win from the moment he turned back to Reaper with a wobbling eye light. The god crumbled quicker than Geno thought he would, and Geno was free to his ice cream cakes.

“I love you Reaps.” He called out to the sulking god he was engaged to— _holy fuck he was engaged to Reaper!_ —and hid a loving smile when said god perked up and preened. It was adorable!

“Love you too Geno~” There was the flirty bastard he fell for. And even quieter, “Best day ever.”

Geno could relate.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i...have no idea where this came from but it hit me harder than my cramps so i got it out lmao
> 
> does this count as angst? implications of slight angst maybe? fucc if i kno homies

"You're in too deep this time, you know that right?"

"I know, I know but,” a helpless smile, "I'm with him for better or for worse."

"It'll probably be for the worse."

A bark of laughter. "I knew that the day I met him."

"...then why don’t you keep him?"

Ink smiled, then, so softly he almost didn’t catch it, “How do I keep him if he doesn’t want to be kept?”

“Tell me, Dreamboat.” The artist turned to properly face the guardian, eye lights a washed-out white and blue color, pinprick and teardrop. “What if he was never mine to keep?”

“What then?”

And Dream had nothing to give to the Protector. Not when the other looked so heart-wrenchingly hopeful for an answer they both knew wasn’t there.

Nothing could be done if the Creators willed it to be so.

_It was their gift_ , Dream thought, wrapping his long-time friend in a hug, _and their curse. To be considered gods in their worlds, and still be powerless to the whims of their Makers._

“I’m so sorry, Ink,” and Dream was. It was about time the other broke, as cruel as it sounded. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Ink clutched at his chest, choking back sobs. “Why does it hurt so much Dream?”

Dream stroked the other’s skull—stars he’s never felt this small before. Ink always had a _larger than life_ air about him. It was something Dream playfully wheedled at him countless times—and then he spoke. Just as softly as Ink did.

“That’s because you loved him, Inky.”

The artist choked out louder sobs, curling into Dream, giggling fits escaping from his trembling body. It made Dream shiver. “That- that’s such- hehe!- a funny joke Dream!”

Dream could only continue comforting him through his meltdown. If it was anyone else, they’d probably be more than ready to flee at the display of near manic giggling. Or the sight of inky tears streaming down the Protector’s face. Or the jagged, fanged grin the other wore.

Together it made for a horrifying picture of insanity.

“Why do I feel this hurt so clearly Dream?” Ink straightened abruptly, staring into Dream with his eye lights. “I’m soulless, I’m a literal empty husk glued together by ink and magic. You know this!”

Dream did.

But Ink was his best friend, and he had long since adjusted to the other’s eccentricities.

Dream continued holding the Protector close to him as the other calmed down, praying to the stars that Ink would have enough sanity through the heartbreak to hold himself together.

“I’m so tired Dreamy,” Ink whispered, staring beyond him, into the nothing of the Doodlesphere, voice scratchy. “So very tired…”

Dream held him tighter, wishing now more than ever his aura had any sort of effect on the soulless being. Anything to keep him from doing anything rash. To keep him safe from himself, and safe from the hurt he did not understand. Dream’s grip tightened, caging in the artist.

A shaky exhale. “It hurts so much.” Teary mismatched eye lights staring into his gold ones. “How do I make it go away?”

Dream had an answer. He just didn’t know if the other could truly comprehend it. He hoped so.

“It…gets better with time,” Dream started gently, “you…you'll heal. We’ll be right beside you, but you have to be strong. Okay?”

“I don’t even know if I can. If I ever was.”

“You are,” the guardian said, “you're so very strong Ink. And you do so much for those around you. For the worlds you give so much to. You are my closest friend Protector, and I care not if you lack a soul. You know this.”

Ink did.

Stars he'd never seen Ink’s eye lights like this before. They had never been so dull— _not even when he drank his white_ —and calmly, too calmy,

“It never goes away does it.”

It wasn’t a question. Dream nodded, magic humming anxiously in his bones to help, to heal.

“No, it doesn’t. Not completely.”

But how does one heal a broken heart for a creature that was never meant to feel in the first place?

He could help though. He couldn’t heal but he could help. Starting with getting them both off the floor. At least Ink remained in his Doodlesphere. Made it easier to collect the things he needed.

“Let’s get you cleaned up Inky.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i dont know what this is ahahahaha

If you told the Destroyer he would find happiness someday soon he'd have blasted you where you stood for your audacity while laughing at the sheer _absurdity_ of the statement.

Jokes on him.

He had a family.

Dysfunctional, annoying pests that made him want to bash his head against a wall, but _his_.

He had found a lover that complimented his madness.

He had a child born of his life-blood and magic. 

His beautiful baby bones.

~~His mother’s successor.~~

They were such a _wonderful_ baby abomination too.

(Don't even ask what his thoughts on _Ink_ were. That damnable squid was an infuriatingly confusing anomaly in a league of his _own_.)

Mischief everywhere they went, with a bright striking grin and those bright lights for eyes—so much like his own multi-colored ones. 

It was always such a challenge trying to prepare for whatever his little brat came up with—from pranks, japes, or the tomfoolery of tricksters to traps, confounding contraptions of various types, and feats of machinery for such a small size. 

Yes, it was always such fun whenever his terror would decide to play.

And they were **always** looking to play. _Ah, the wonders a youth can do_.

He remembers how proud he was of them, during their first trip without him. 

He remembers being so worried he almost went and dragged them back home, where they were safe from the predators of their Multiverse.

~~Particularly, the one predator he’d rather~~ _~~not~~ _ ~~let his child come close to ever again.~~

He’d taught them as best as he could, and they already mastered the basics of their mother’s magic, so realistically speaking, their adversaries would be the ones in danger.

Honestly, his baby was _so badass_. 

Not to mention their Papa’s teachings—though most times disorganized and chaotic, he could still begrudgingly admit were effective. 

The bastard kept up with him blow for blow and then some after all.

He shouldn’t have worried.

Their smile was bigger than ever when they got back home, the fruits of their venture dripping liquid magic in the knapsack over their shoulder. 

The execution was a little sloppy, and the code could've been condensed into a file instead of a ball, but for their first time destroying without (obvious) supervision it was a good attempt.

"You still needed to refine your technique." He told them as they bounced closer. "A Destroyer is only as good as his work," in the sense that if they did the job sloppily their work would only undo itself and the world would eventually return to life and _that_ would be a migraine and a half guaranteed, "but, you did a good job."

He'd treasure that blinding smile for eternity.

He’d re-teach them how to efficiently collect the data cores next time they had a Lesson Day. First, he had to lecture Ink on _not_ leaving his stupidly messy paint portals near the beanbag area. 

Again. 

For the tenth time this week.

(It also may not have been a week exactly, since time was funky in the anti-void, but who knew? Certainly not him.)

Sigh.

Despite their scatter-brained father always making some kind of a mess anyway, his home was always mostly spotless, what with their combined hatred of clutter. At least his little one was always quick to clean up after their messes—much like himself.

_“Dark colors stand out more easily than light colors Mama! Especially if you don’t dilute them!”_

_Error fought not to squish their face, pouting and huffing up at him. He smirked instead. “Has your father been teaching you about Color Theory again?” His little terror smiled up at him—an innocent mirror image of their mother's twisted one—and shook their black skull._

_“Nope! That was yesterday. Today we went painting in an Outertale universe! Papa called it something long and fancy, but I don’t remember what.” With their face scrunched up, the marks they inherited from him shined through the muck that partially covered their head, acting much like liquid hair._

_“I see. Were you being careful?" He'd never admit to it, but Ink maybe had a point when he said Error was a tad bit overprotective._

_"Did you have your defense sequence on standby? Dammit, I should've—was it a genocide timeline?” Error had a custom-made defense system on his precious baby bones and squid-brained idiot for a_ **_reason_** _. But, as long as they both kept themselves safe, it would have no reason to initiate its…admittedly unpredictable sequence._

_“No, Mama,” was that an eye roll? Ugh damn Ink and his horrible influence, “Papa kept watch too. And he let out the ink wolves just in case trouble came.”_

_And with their combined reputation in the Multiverse, trouble was almost always knocking on their door_

_“Can you show me how to compile the codes again Mama?”_

_“Of course.”_

Such a darling, his little terror.

The same good nature wasn't always seen in the people that met his abomination, however. 

Sure, his tricks could be complex for his age and yes, his traps could be devastatingly time wrangling (and traumatizing) but that's what made his baby so special!

Even Error had to admit his child’s control over the Dreamscape was getting better with every night terror they modified, and that didn’t take the complexity of dream manipulation into account!

Sigh. People just didn't know how to appreciate a bright young mind these days.

...

Not something that he considered an immediate problem though.

His problem was when they hurt his little one and thought they could **_gEt aWaY wiTh iT_ ** _—_

_—he remembers coming home to a chilling scream being cut off. The first thing he registered was the marrow. Thick and dark, spread in macabre imitations of the paint portals he was more familiar with, staining his anti-void’s floor. Almost absently, he stared at his child claw at oily black tendrils coiled around their neck, delicate vertebrae creaking. A singular teal eye light fixed on him, the pleased smile he was used to seeing nowhere near as sadistic as the one aimed at him now._

_"When I told you to leave me alone," disbelieving laughter, "that included_ **_them_ ** _."_

_A sneer was his only reply. He clenched his fists._

_"What's with that face, Destroyer?"_

_His child was being hurt by the one being he trusted not to hurt him._

_“Did you think you could hide_ ** _them_ ** _from me, Pet?”_

_Not to hurt_ **_them._ **

_"I tire of our silly game of hide-and-seek. It is time to return to me the weapon you took."_

_"OUR CHILD SHOULD_ ** _NEVER_ ** _BE A WEAPON!" Error screamed his rage into the anti-void as he sees his child limply reaching out to him, barely strong enough to do more than jerk their arm towards him, hand outstretched._

_Nightmare frowns, tutting softly, "Emotional attachments only serve to make one weak, Destroyer." The crooked grin that used to make his knees weak was twisted now, warped by a hunger for power._

_(He notices the stray webbing of foreign strings and darker-than-ink sludge puddles among the streaks of marrow and shards of bone littered around them. How long had they been fighting for their life? How long has he been gone?_ **_How long had they been in danger without him here to protect them?_** _)_

_"Leave now, Nightmare," he snarled, "unhand_ **_them_ ** _and LEAVE!"_

_Once upon a time, he'd never even dare to think he would bring harm to his lover. His lover would have supported him throughout his pregnancy instead of casting him to his anti-void to bear it alone._

_Once upon a time, their love was their strongest bond._

_But Error had been awoken from that ~~fairytale~~ when he met an anomaly in his anti-void. _

_He'd never felt so whole before them, not even with Nightmare._

_The anomaly that wore a carefree smile and had the most beautiful eye lights he'd ever seen—not that he didn't see beauty in Nightmare's realm. The Lord of Negativity was dramatic as he was vain. He never said anything, comfortable with where he was._

_He was happy to be ignorant._

**_Never again._ **

_The resulting fight with the octopus was a hazy blur he couldn’t remember, but he came to with his child—crying and terrified out of their mind but still blessedly alive—in his arms. Error couldn’t recall ever feeling such a profound mix of relief and heartache before his injuries caught up with him and he collapsed._

He vowed never to do anything that would recreate that day for them both. He'd come too far to have it come crashing down on him like that.

But then the Protector came knocking and let himself in. 

He's never left since.

And at this point, Error didn’t want him to.

Still, he took his already tight security to the next level after that traumatizing disaster. It didn't matter that he spent his prescribed recovery time putting up walls and walls of code to protect his little slice of the anti-void from unwanted visitors.

His baby abomination deserved to be safe, to have a proper home.

The error would gladly let the anti-void eat away at his coding if it meant they would have at least one semi-reliable _safe space_.

_He distinctly remembers his little terror jumping right back to their feet after what amounted to three days in his anti-void, whereas he was confined to almost a solid week on bed rest after an unexpected visit from a certain artist had him crashing hard. He ‘woke up’ on his beanbag, he remembers, covered from skull to phalange in a pile of blankets and the sight of his little terror manifesting their unstable sticky strings in front of an eager-faced Ink greeting him._

_He didn’t think he could scream while simultaneously glitching out but he had. Ink even got his baby bones to record the sight. He wasn’t aware even that his offspring had the ability for code sight!_

_The more you know._

His mother would have been so proud...

_...if the fucker wasn’t such a backstabbing, manipulative sack of shit he should have finished off eons ago—!_

“Error you’re stabbing me.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

"Oh?"

That’s right. Ink was here. The knitting lessons. Right.

"Error?"

Unfortunately, he was stuck with the Protector for who-knows-how-long since his little terror had insisted on visiting his cousins in the Save Screen alone because _“I got you a surprise! You have to wait to see it!”_ was a valid excuse and Error didn’t have the soul to refuse them when they looked so determined to surprise him. He was almost tempted to forget right then and there that Ink had already let slip what the surprise was.

That was on them. They should have known better than to tell their father. The bastard couldn’t keep his mouth to himself to save his life.

"Error you're still stabbing me."

"That's because you're annoying, squid idiot. Squidiot." The response was automatic, normal. He stabbed the artist's stupid, elegant phalanges one more time for good measure before he put away his knitting needles. 

Ink only sniggered at him, pesky little shit he was. "Another nickname glitchy? Wow, you _really_ like me don't you~?"

"Liked you more when you shut up," he shot back, smirking.

"That's fair," Ink concurred and sat back to continue his attempts at a functional beanie. 

And Error stiffened. Ink would never back down from their back-and-forths so easily. Something was wrong.

"Fine, I'll _bite_. What's _eating_ at you?" If a double pun (ugh) didn't earn a snort at _least_ he'd need to amp it up. The stubborn bastard wouldn't crack otherwise. Creators knew he just loved making Error work for it.

It was one of many other things Error hated to love him for.

Ink gave a smile, but it wasn't as annoyance-inducing as it usually was, so the Destroyer had to jump the gun. The glimpse of a teardrop and a swirl didn't exactly give him comfort.

"Squid, darling," he had to reel the other in first, "if you don't tell me what's wrong right now I'm revoking cuddle privileges."

That got the artist's attention quickly—if the way the other nearly snapped his neck to give him a horrified stare was anything to go by.

"Error no! Not the cuddles!" 

"You have three chances to tell me. That just cost you one."

"Error—seriously it isn't—"

"Two."

"Please can we not—"

"And there's strike three. Congratulations, you've been restricted to three cuddles every two days. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"....."

"Absolutely nothing? Not even bargaining?" This was more serious than he thought if Ink didn't argue for cuddle rights. Ink would do just about anything for cuddle rights.

"....."

Okay fine. 

"If you don't spit it out I'm getting _them_ to ask—"

"No!" 

"Then tell me what it is so _I can help_ ink for brains!"

Still silence in his anti-void.

Error stared down the artist.

Ink stubbornly stared back.

"Fine," he replied, looking away from the Destroyer.

"Good. Now, what is it?" Okay, so maybe Error was a little _(read:_ _a lot_ _)_ concerned but he had a right to be dammit! 

Why was it that every single sans alternate had some sort of emotional issue? 

Ink slumps down on the beanbag, knitting project all but forgotten. "Why do you love me?"

_Well then_.

Error reboots.

"You're seriously asking me that _now?_ "

"Yeah." Ink shimmied around to face him, an arm bent to support his skull. "You know I'm soulless an—"

"And that affects me how?" The glitch snorts and gives the artist a look conveying extreme amounts of sass _._

Ink stares back at him. "And I can't love you back. I can't legitimately feel anything for—"

"Do I look like I give a shit? You're here. I'm here. The kid's going to be home in about five minutes. That's all that matters to me."

"....."

Ink snorts— _fucking finally—_ and hefts himself up to plant a skeleton kiss on the corner of Error's scowl, humming all the while.

"If you say so Ru!" The sound of a familiar portal opening distracts the retreating artist from evading Error's hit to the skull. "Ow! Haha!"

Error was glitching out again, flushed a beautifully soft yellow and blue that reminded him of Outertale. Ink sighs to himself, eye lights unknowingly flashing pink and yellow hearts at the Destroyer, serving to make the other blush brighter.

"Mama! Papa! You wouldn't _believe_ what Shino did to uncle Geno this time! I've never heard uncle Death scream so loud!"

"There's our bratling glitchy." Ink nuzzles the side of his flushed skull, leaving another peck before turning. "Welcome back kiddo!"

_Our_ bratling. Ink declared Error's child as _his_. 

_Theirs._

Ink was a fucking idiot, but damn it all if he wasn't a charming one.

Error picks up the forgotten pink-blue-yellow gradient beanie off the anti-void floor and stores it in his inventory.

His family was a perfectly imperfect puzzle he had no desire to destroy, and he couldn't wait to introduce Ink to their newest addition. 

He smiles at his love and his first child, one hand absently caressing his hidden ecto-middle.

_Can't wait to meet you,_

_Paperjam._


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fell down a rabbit hole and only just remembered this little thing sjksjdksjkdksdk

_The Creators had to be entertained one way or another. He only wished they keep the others out of it, and that they were feeling merciful._

"Give him back to me," a familiar voice commanded, colder than he’s ever heard. "Now." 

_But he never was all that lucky. He'd never been._

His keeper turned to face the seething figure blocking the door, letting out a low, amused hum. 

_He'd do it all over again if given the choice though._

"No, I don't think I will."

_If it meant keeping everyone safe. If it meant keeping_ him _safe._

That drawling voice alone brought back memories of dark rooms and broken bones and _pain_.

_He couldn’t think past it—sharp pain and echoed screaming worsening the pounding in his skull. His was sore all over and he couldn’t focus on anything but the searing heat gripping his body— magic exhaustedly keeping as much as it could together—as that mockingly gentle, melodic crooning continued to soothe him as if he were nothing but a child crying from a rough tumble._

_He wished it was only that. Things would be simpler._

"I just broke in my new toy," that gleeful tone continued, fake-pouting at the one person he hoped he’d never have to see in this place. "I want to play with it a little longer before I throw it away."

_Was this the pain_ he _went through? Alone? In that terrifyingly empty space of his? Stars! He never knew!_

_Although, how could he have?_

_The Creators were always quick to do with their toys as they wished. And keeping the artist away and distracted was easy enough._

_~~Sometimes he even regretted following those calls so religiously.~~ _

_~~But he'd never regret making the deal.~~ _

_Out of the few memories he could have remembered, it had to be that one. He never wanted to see Error look so far gone and broken down like that ever again. Ink didn't even want to know how many times things like this happened before he made the damned deal._

How did Error even find him? More puzzling, how did he know his current double wasn't the original? He already took measures against being tracked down! Heck, he even made sure to make Error _actually_ mad for once! 

_He had to suppress the itch to reach for the vial of blue he didn't have._

Dear stars above, why did he have to choose _the most_ _inopportune time_ to be a nosy, bull-headed idiot?

The Multiverse had enough stubborn bastards in it already!

The mocking statement only got them a near-feral sounding growl. The error was furious. Extremely so, if the chaotic glitching around him was any hint. "Give him to me. _Now!"_

Deranged laughter echoed in the vast hall as his bonds tightened and he grunted, cutting off the raspy groan in his throat. He wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him in pain, even as his vision swam in and out of focus, eye lights pale and white, cursing the bare amount of colors the Creators granted to him. 

"What will you give me in exchange if I do, Destroyer? You have nothing of value to offer." Nightmare looked to the glitch, cocking his head, smirk lackadaisical. “My answer will have to be _no_.”

It reminded Ink of a puppy. If the puppy was also part octopus, had a reputation for being a deranged murderer, and lived in a decrepit castle with a bunch of other murderers.

These thoughts were not fitting for the situation, he thinks. And he'd be right. He really shouldn't be comparing his current captor to a puppy if he wanted to make sure he stayed alive. The tightening appendage on his neck was a reminder, a clear threat, and a show of power in one slimy coil. 

Creators knew it would be more than happy to take what it wanted. Nightmare never did have the longest patience. Or had the most lenient temperament. That was more Dream's specialty. The void in his hollow chest cavity gives a sour churn at the reminder. Ink makes a sound of discomfort.

Error growled at the offending tendril, tensing at the faint grunt from the drooping artist, and paying no heed to the way Nightmare studied him. He had to get Ink _out_ if nothing else—the bastard had cracks upon cracks on him! Ink was his priority. Everything else, he would take care of after.

"So, he's the one?" the lord of negativity muses, grabbing Ink’s chin in a rough motion, making Error stiffen. “Interesting.” _Fuck._

"You would leave for him?" Nightmare rights his tilted head, singular eye light slitting. The error takes a step forward, multi-colored eye lights set in a determined glare. "Give him to me," he hisses in response. 

"He's the one you'd die for?" Nightmare continues, tendrils waving behind him. He receives no answer from either foe and comes to a decision, smiling serenely and ignoring how Ink thrashed and flinched away from the increase of activity of the looping goopy tendrils. 

"I wonder how you will react, Destroyer," a teal eye light pins him in place as Nightmare raises the tendril holding the Protector, "if he dies for you?" 

The question was rhetoric, the glitch realizes sluggishly, a sharp snap followed by a cracking sound echoed in the empty hall as Nightmare lets the limp body fall to the floor. 

He stares blankly, unmoving, even as he watches cloth and ink become a mocking reminder of what was. As the ink swallows up colors that reminded him so much of those expressive eye lights he adored. 

Eye lights he'd no longer be able to see. 

The Destroyer falls to the floor, still ignoring the interest in Nightmare's gaze, ignoring everything else but the crushing feeling of his guilt over his failure. 

"Your despair is _delicious_ ," the embodiment of negativity drawls as he walks closer, Error still unmoving, not even rebooting when he lifts the other's chin. 

Oh. 

He's crashed. 

Explains a lot then. Less work for him. 

He carts off the unresponsive Destroyer in his tendrils, leaving behind a puddle of ink and stained cloth.

Such a shame, the Protector was surprisingly hardy.

No matter.

He had a new toy to play with.

Time to make it _scream_.

…

…

…

…

…

Hours later, the ink-soaked clothes are nowhere to be found. No trail, nothing to indicate they were even there in the first place. Killer shrugs. Somebody must’ve cleaned it up. He whistles as he goes back to the main room, ignoring the prickling feeling in his spine.

Unseen, a pair of blank white eye lights follow his retreating figure. Their owner follows the skeleton until he’s sure the other wouldn’t be returning. He drops from his place on the ceiling, immediately rising after.

He had to find his Other.

Before the story changed.

Before the Creators got too invested.

_He prayed to them, begging and pleading to shoulder his Other's hurt, to substitute himself in their place._

_The Creators tittered among each other, giddy with whispered ideas before they started speaking as one._

_"Do keep it entertaining for us_ _Protector_ _~"_

_He promised._

_And thus, the deal was done._


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> may i offer thee a drabble in these trying times?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to insert the skel of your choice in this one kiddies

You brought everything when you came.

A whirlwind of complexity I couldn't begin to understand.

You sucked me in and I dived right into you.

I don’t remember where it started.

Nor do I remember how.

All I thought I needed to know was you.

When I became we.

When it was you beside me.

I only remember noticing it in a passing thought.

Maybe strips of me were stuck onto you.

Maybe parts of me merged with yours.

Maybe that’s why you fit with me so perfectly.

Maybe that’s why you took so much of me when you left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently fighting off a lingering fever makes me poetic


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another 600 words yay lezzgo small victories
> 
> (pardon my absence ksjdksd)
> 
> (writer's block decided to come in bearing gifts of No Motivation Soup and gave me a cup of Sleep All Day tea after my fever)

“Hey, Starshine? How did you know you liked me?”

Well isn’t that a whirlwind of a question. 

He takes a moment to pause, rewinding to that particular day. Things were normal, he remembers. Chaos, deaths, the occasional chocolate bar, unraveling another abomination’s core code, and the one thing he very much looked forward to. 

Stargazing.

Only, he realized that somebody beat him to the asteroid he favored. Someone he had managed to avoid the entirety of the day.

The damned squid-brained artist. 

Now, normally he would rage and yell at the other for interrupting his downtime, before cocooning him in strings and tossing him coccyx first into a portal. 

But apparently, the Multiverse decided he had enough normality for the day and threw in the one headache he despised with a passion.

Only this time, the headache chose today to turn into a migraine and bug him with more of its idiocy.

He knew the artist knew he was there—how could he not, with the buzzing and the static from the glitches announcing his presence—and he braced himself for anything that could happen.

Except that Ink didn’t do anything and only continued to stare into the beyond, not even turning around to meet the destroyer’s narrowed gaze. Error could hear a faint scratching from the artist, focused on whatever the fuck would be his newest obsession.

Only the brush and the sketchpad placed beside him provided a clue to who it was since he looked like any other Sans from behind with only a white shirt, from what Error could see at least. 

The error didn’t relax from his stance, even when he took a bold step and met the other’s turned blank face and faded eye lights with no defenses other than his strings.

(He was slightly offended that Ink hadn’t assumed a battle stance, defensive or offensive. That meant he wasn’t considering Error as much of a threat and he resented that, half-truth as it was. They were annoyingly on par with each other, forced to explore new tactics and different approaches to gain an advantage in the battlefield.)

(It was exhausting as it was exhilarating.)

"Heya Glitchy." Ink smiles, the attempt feeling a bit flat even to Error, who was more familiar with the artist’s wider, more infuriating grin—the kind he gives when he knows he’s being an annoying brat and doesn’t feel sorry for it. 

His fingers twitch.

It's a different smile from what the Destroyer is used to receiving for sure—since normally the artist’s greeting is either a jubilant yell of his name with a side of surprise hugs or an enraged one with that damned brush at the ready. 

Error doesn’t return the smile, but he does acknowledge the other with a mumbled greeting that almost sounded suspiciously like one of the glitch's many nicknames for him but Ink could also be wrong. 

It’s the best he was going to get, and if Ink was unsatisfied he didn’t show it, turning back to his book and surprising his rival once again with his unexpected silence. 

But nothing more is said; graphite on paper and metal clicking the only sounds present in the quiet of the space they found themselves sharing.

"Why do you want to know?"

Error ignores his artist's flimsy attempts at persuasion and resulting indignant pouting before the adorable idiot gets himself sidetracked with yet another distraction.

"Idiot." He says, sweet and fond.

Ink looks up at him, eye lights bright and sings, "Your idiot now Starshine!"

Error couldn't disagree even if he remotely wanted to.

He smirks instead. "My squid idiot."


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> online classes are draining surprisingly (not)

Ringing. 

Shrill, high-pitched ringing in his skull and outside of it.

_M̶͖̘̩̟̦̈́͐́̀͜ǎ̶̧̗͖͕͇̦̹̞͈͚̪̝̈̊̌̒͒̃͘͠͠͠͠ͅK̸̡̞̬͉̰̦̰͙̗͙͆͜͠e̸̢̝̲̾͐̽͒͛̋̊̈̒̕͝ ̷̦̟̎͆̄̈́̂ͅI̶̧̢͎̻̟̥̯̝͙̺̲̅̾̇̐̏̈̀̂͜t̸̢͈͕̰̎̈͐ ̶̧̰̘̙̣̰̼͓͔̦͇̣͖̙̝̑͊̓̈̃̚͘5̷̡̡t̶̫͑͑̈̍̓̓͜ͅƠ̷̖̙̫̞̘͇̝̿̅̏͌͆̈́͗̑͂̏̀͐͌p̴̢̡̨͔͉͕̥̤̰̩̩̜̈́͐̽̂̓͆̊̈́̿̅̽͊̅̚͠!̴̳̪̟͈̤̯̥͔̥̫̀͊̐̑̈́_

He twitched his fingers. His phone dropped beside him, a stupidly bright screen making him squint his sockets.

He answers the call, snapping out a curse as he does.

"Hey, Glitchy!" 

Error groans loud and long, making sure his displeasure would be known to all. Did the multiverse hate him this much?

"I'm coming over to yours today!" Per tradition, Ink ignores the stream of curses with his name attached to it.

"Why-? I don't want to know. Don't come over." 

"Aw! But I wanna show you something!" 

Stars help him--this was the most awful time the artist could have possibly chosen! The line cut off with a beep before he could protest with more than a "No! Don't-" 

Error groans louder and winces when he shifts in place, knowing the moment Ink arrived was near. 

He feels a ripple of magic in his realm, the obnoxious orange paint puddle appearing in splatters and growing bigger with each one a clear warning.

And he knows the moment Ink drops through it too, the surprise immediately forgotten in favor of rushing to his special person. 

Who was currently laying in a puddle of pixelating dark blue strings and code and weakly glaring at him through their blurred sight.

His eye lights flipped to a red exclamation point and a white plus sign.

"I fucking told you not to-" A wet coughing that made him want to shake whatever it was Error was choking on loose, but would also mean making him hurt even more made Ink hesitate in lifting the other up and closer to him. 

So he improvised. 

Error weakly hit him on the skull when he abruptly melted into ink and rematerialized under the glitch, who squirmed in panic at the hold before the sight of familiar tattoos registered. 

"I tried to tell you not to come," he whispered, static voice and glitches worsening. 

Ink continued to say nothing. As Error knew he would. Sometimes he absolutely loathed how the bastard just knew what he wanted without him voicing it out. 

He ignores how that thought warms his shivering bones.

And he _had_ told Ink on numerous occasions that he wasn't going to be welcome if he'd be running his mouth. It took a long while and a fuckton of patience, but it did stick to the squid eventually. 

Error supposed he only had himself to blame on that one. He hated the quiet now. Hated hearing his rattling wheezes, hated the gleeful and sympathetic whispers of the voices, hated that he wanted to hear the artist's annoyingly soothing voice.

Hated being grateful for the silence anyway, knowing it would hurt them both even more if the guardian did speak. 

He closes his eyes and listened to the beat of his pixelating soul. 

One-two, glitching, one-two, one-two.

And if he focused harder, an answering hum could be heard as well. He looked to Ink, who wore no sash, no telltale vials of feelings on the floor beside him, who only had an empty chest cavity devoid of any sort of glow and yet... 

And yet the bastard he learned to love continued to love him in return. And not only when he had his vials too.

They found that out by accident, during their later years. When they were bored enough to make a truce and try something different.

And as was consistent in Error's relationship with science, something in their experiments fucked up and the artificial soul they created refused to be contained in Ink, even though it supposedly held more than enough traces of the squid's magic to bond with him.

Ink's magic had evolved itself, they found. It would reject any sort of soul that tried to interact with it, but would accept emotions and feelings in the form of paints from the colors the artist came across? It had Ink stumped in numb shock and Error screaming curses.

They eventually moved past it. As they always did.

But as another wet cough rattled him, Error knew they wouldn't be able to move past this one. Or they would. But they wouldn't quite be the same as before. Error knew it'd be fine. 

The squid always came through for him. 

They would be fine.

And with that, he closed his eyes and breathed.

\------------------------

Ink numbly sat in place, unmoving as Error glitched himself out of existence and only the puddle of strings and excess code remained. 

He thought they'd have longer this time. 

He was _promised_ they'd have more time. 

He should have known better than to trust the word of liars.

But Error swayed him.

~~As the Creators intended.~~

Iridescent drops of magic slipped down his skull to the white of the anti-void floor.

No more.

He stood up, bundling the strings and watching the puddle fade in glitches, as most things did when consumed by the never-ending white.

He wanted no more of this endless circle.

He was sick and tired of watching every single one he loved be claimed by the creators time and time again, forced to watch as they'd dust, forced to sit and grin and forget what they used to be when he met a replacement.

It was never the same. The copies would never invoke in him the emotions his firsts had given him.

But he knew the rules and was made to concede to them, so what he could actually do to prevent it was limited.

Free will was a luxury a puppet didn't have.

The creators loved to play with their toys after all.

They knew he was resisting, knew he was closer and closer to rebellion with each heartbreaking death.

So they made a mirror of his true first, a copy that made his chest ache something fierce.

And yet, foolishly hopeful, he played into their games still.

Willing to pay the price if only to have another chance and do things right this time.

He promised he wouldn't fail him this time-- _he fucking promised!_

And what did that get him?

Another tally to add to the scoreboard, that's what.

Another weight to carry on his own.

Until the next games were played.

Ink looks up and over the empty white void, eye lights reflecting the blinding color.

The guardian stares into the Void.

.

.

.

_A̸̧̠̣̠̟͖̫̗͔̝̲͈̓̽̈́̈͜ n̸̛̘͔̹̝̼̝̄̔͗̌̉̏̅͒̃̄͗͊͊̽̚̚̚̕̚͝ ḍ̴̢͉̤̦̟̣̘̫̖̭͇͙̂̋͘͠͝ ̸͎̎̏̆͂̓ t̸̡̛̠̣̾̅̿̒̎̑̋̒̽̃̕͠ h̷̪͍͕̬̳̱̋̀̈́̇̐̆̓̈̊̍̉͛̑̆͊̕͝ ḙ̵̡͔̲͖̻̣̝̆̆̍ͅ ̸̢̢̢̛̛͔̺̝̦̼͈̫͇̼̦͚̪̪̯͍̆̈́͒̅̑̄͑͆̾̈̈́̈́̒̆V̵̡̨̛̛͕̗͚͓͓̝̟̰̳͈̫̗͈̖̜̗̩̥̀͋̈́̈́̃̋̈́̿̅̐͌̿̌͌̈̓̓̕ o̴̡̨̘̰̜̯̪͇̣͍̺̘̺͉͎̹̎̐̊͒͊͆ͅ i̶̧̧̭̘̞̤̻̟̒̉̒̾̂͐͗͛̏́̊́̂̀̎̚̚͝͝ d̸͙͚̣͇̗̠͕͉͈͆̆̋͛̌̑͒̄͆̐̇̆̄̐͒̀̉́̽̚̕͜ ̶̧̛̯̼͚̥̥̲̜͉̾̈́͊̒̀̏̑̓͗̍̒͠͝s̴̢͎͕̹̈͗̇͘͠ͅ t̸̺̯͍̰͍̩̞̣̞̖̮͙͇͙̔̍̐̕͝ͅ ḁ̴̢̢̞̮̼̼̹̫͈͈̹̟͈̊̑̈́̑̿̏̈́͑͌̔͌͌̋̌͑̚̕ ŗ̸̢̨̛̲̙̙̥̻̠̥͉̦͙̱̣̱͓̺̼̮̙̑͌̔̓̽̋͋́ ẹ̵̡̨̡̨̜̜͇̮͕̘̦̲̼̙̠̯̓͑̃͂̀̽͋͑ ḑ̸̛͎̦͎̮̺̈́͒̀̋̈́ͅ ̶̡̝̻̻͍̫̤̖̳͔̞̘̪̠̺͉̝̠͖̝͛͑͌̊̄͐b̸̡̭̯̗̤͔͉̯̬̬͉͔̙͍̦̤͛͗̆͑̄̈́̈́̍͆͑̃͛̔͆̆͘̚͝ͅ a̴̡̡̢̞̟̖̯̝̤̝͂͠ͅ c̶̡̙̝̃͘͜ k̷̨̥̦͖̓̀̉͌̋̈́͐̈͗̊͂̈́̈́͠ .̷̢̲̱͖̥̞͙̤̙̪̗̖̮͙̮͎̱̯͍͛͋͊̽́͆̇̿̋̊̈́̏̊̈́̇͌̇̅͠͝͠ͅ_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case the glitched text wasnt clear:
> 
> _MaKe It 5tOp._
> 
> and
> 
> _And the Void stared back._
> 
> much,,tenkz,,por readz,,,
> 
> ;w;


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> have this drabble piece while i try to juggle School and Circumstances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess whos sick again

"STOP THROWING YOUR CHOCOLATE BARS IN MY FACE ERROR!"

"WHY HAVENT YOU PICKED UP ON LITERALLY ANY OF MY DAMNED HINTS STUPID SQUID-!"

"WHAT FUCKING HINTS-!?"

_**AGGRESSIVE MOTIONS** _

"LITERALLY WHAT HINTS WERE THERE TO PICK UP ON???"

"THE PUPPETS FOR ONE. THE SCARF FOR ANOTHER."

"I THOUGHT THE PUPPETS WERE THREATS! AND YOU TRIED TO STRANGLE ME IN THAT SCARF!"

"HOW ELSE WAS I SUPPOSED TO ASK YOU ON A DATE DUMBASS?!"

"HOW ABOUT BY LITERALLY ASKING ME?? LIKE A NORMAL PERSON???"

"BUT THAT'S BORING!"

"WE WOULDVE BEEN DATING RIGHT NOW IF YOU JUST DID THAT AT THE BEGINNING OMYGO-"


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> its a little short but i got inspired by a thing that wouldnt let me go so

"What do you know destroyer?!"

Reaper was sick and tired of this. If the fucking Destroyer was going to be on his coccyx about shit he didn't do like hell he was standing by. He had his honor to fight for dammit!

Error scoffed, the murmur of the Voices drowning out the turbulent mix of rising emotions in him. "I know a fuckton more than you do apparently!"

"Oh yeah? Like _what_?"

The glitch gave Reaper a look he didn't understand. It made the god feel an odd mix of offended and reprimanded only a select handful of beings usually accomplished. It made Reaper uneasy.

~~Why was that look so familiar...?~~

"I know you didn't look for him." Error started, glaring at him with mismatched eye lights. _"For Geno."_

What...?

_How did the destroyer know about-?_

Something itched at the back of his skull but for the life (heh) of him, he couldn't understand it. Reaper kept up his eternal grin anyway, ignoring how he tensed when Error stepped forward, closer to him. "I know you immediately looked for the next double to replace him. I bet your current lover doesn't know shit about anything before you met him-"

Reaper snapped.

"Shut up!" He screamed, voice breaking. "You don't know anything! You don't know how long," loud crazed laughter, "how fucking long I've searched the goddamned multiverse for him. Don't you fucking dare assume you know what it was like-"

Error's stare was unmoving, challenging the rampaging god with a whispered _"Don't I?"_

Reaper froze. He looked up with empty wide sockets to meet such a familiar stare it knocked the wind out of his wings. "I-what?"

"I was the one losing my mind in the fucking AntiVoid!" Error said with a smile one could call gentle, had the situation been different. The glitch moved one more step, voice choked up and breaking with glitches. "I was the one screaming my skull off for you to find me! And when I finally got out I see you with another!" 

Another step, close enough to brush his phalanges on the edge of the other's skull, if he dared to break the spell between them that is. "Did you even truly look for me Reaps?"

"How-how do you know that name-" Reaper staggered back a step in reply, dark raven wings extending to their full glory.

~~Error hated how he knew what those wings felt like wrapped around him. He wasn't that person anymore. That person was long dead and gone.~~

"Do you even recognize me? Bird brain?"

Silence reigned the world and Reaper was stuck in a staredown he never once thought would happen ~~again~~.

Seconds passed without movement from either side.

"Of course you fucking don't." He sighed. And Error backed away a couple paces, raking his hand over his skull. "Ink was right, I really shouldn't have bothered."

And then it clicked.

"...Geno?"

Glitched laughter in reply. Error shot him a maddeningly pitying look Reaper didn't ever need to see again. ~~Not from him.~~

"Not anymore. Geno is long gone." Moving to open a portal Error gave the elder god his back, knowing Reaper would never do harm unto him. Never him.

The sight of a portal to a house in the middle of white nothingness spurred Reaper into leaping forward, an arm desperately outstretched. "What-no, no, no Geno wait-" 

"I don't need you to look for me anymore." The portal was opening wider he had to move _he had to reach for his Geno **he had to** -_

"Baby, love, please I-!"

He was walking through the portal. "Someone else has found me, and he makes me happier now," looking back to shoot Reaper a smile, Error whispered:

"Goodbye Reaper."

And the pixelating doorway disappeared, leaving behind an empty world and an even emptier heart.

_"Geno!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi cosmic :D


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> was listening to Mamma Mia's "My Love, My Life" and it utterly wrecked me so
> 
> extremelyshortsorryhaventhadenergytodoanythingthisweeksorry

A lone silhouette was barely visible through the violent sheets of rain. If you walked past, you could probably mistake it for a tree, albeit shorter than the towering ones around it.

But it was, evidently, another skeleton. A skeleton that Nightmare knew like the back of his hand. 

How could he not? 

This was his brother after all.

There was no bow, no staff, no weaponry of any kind present, and his sharp tendrils faltered. Something was... 

He wouldn't say it was foreboding, the dreary pit in his core. It wasn't that exactly. More like a feeling of something... 

Out of place. 

Wrong. 

And by the stars above it only seemed to worsen the longer he ignored it. 

So he didn't. 

He followed an invisible path until the feeling lessened into a ball of mild anxiety instead. 

He followed it here. To this desolate dust bowl of an AU he never wanted to see again. 

And he followed it to Dream. 

He knew Dream probably already felt his aura—suffocatingly cold and present—and still, he didn't turn to face him. 

Nightmare didn't know how long they stood there, just that Dream was as still as the statue he used to be and that the ball of anxiety was creeping up on him and making him want to- 

Want to what? Talk? Reach out? Why? 

He didn't know if he even wanted to do any of those in the first place! 

It was this stupid seed of doubt that made him stay in place and not just leave like he wanted to. 

It was stupid and infuriatingly persistent and he wanted it to go the fuck away-! 

And Dream turned to face him. 

Wide eye light locked to hazy faded gold ones and Nightmare's breath hitched. 

Dream smiled _his_ smile. 

That small quirk of the mouth Nightmare thought he’d never see again. 

Just like how he never thought that he'd see his brother this way. 

And as much as pretended otherwise, he never, ever wanted to see it happen in reality. 

A soft grip on his less-goopy side snapped him out of his stare and Dream was much closer than he thought. The instinct to jerk away was overridden by the comforting warm pulse of magic his brother sent and Nightmare melted into the hold, cyan tears beading on the edge of his good socket. 

"I love you, brother. So, so very much." 

And he fell to his knees, Nightmare gasping out a half-sob as he raced to grasp what was in his reach, willing himself to be quick enough, willing his brother to be patient enough, to stay because Nightmare still needed him, still needed Dream because Dream was his only brother and they promised it would be them against the world forever and-! 

Catching a grip on the fallen's clothes, Nightmare crumpled into a ball. 

And he screams. 

As golden light glittered into nothing, as a soft warmth flittered briefly against his core, as the soft clink of Dream's crown hits his skull. 

The King of Negativity cried for his loss, sobbing between curses and pleas, and mourned for what was. 

For what will never be again. 

The rain continued to blanket them— _him only him now he was alone he was too late_ **_he was alone and he'd forever be alone_** —

A single golden apple lay ignored and forgotten at his knees.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> have this while i wrangle with a tiny project wip that really REALLY doesnt want to be written 
> 
> at all
> 
> (hope this little piece of maybe fluff makes ur day a tiny bit better)

"Ink." 

"Yeah?" 

"Our friend is an idiot. Who also fancies an idiot." 

"Your point?" 

"...literally _how_ are they this blind? Even Error saw the tension between them with how fast he dipped!" 

"Oh! I wrote it down somewhere here, let me just-!" 

\------

They were in battle. 

Again. 

For the sixth time this week. 

And Dream was starting to get irritated, eye lights sharp and face set in a ghost of a scowl when his arrow misses its mark.

("Getting a little rusty there, brother dearest?" 

Dream releases another few arrows in succession, two of them hitting home. Nightmare hisses and throws a wave of bones at him, tentacles curling and wiggling around. Those arrows weren't even meant to cause lethal damage! But then again, Night always had a dramatic streak in him.)

He rolls his eyes at yet another of his brother's barbed remarks--honestly, it was getting kind of old--choosing instead to focus on his two others. 

The rest of his team weren't feeling so chipper--if Ink's scowl and Blue's (usually) bright grin reduced to a slanted curve of displeasure were anything to go by. 

But they continued to be at top form, always so quick to come to his aid when he called, and Dream feels a rush of energy fill him when Blue catches his eye and sends a tired but merry smile and throws Dust over his shoulder and into a boulder.

He was _so_ glad he taught Blue that little rejuvenation trick. Easy to send soul pulses and even easier to mask them from the enemy if you were engaged in battle. And Dream was never one to refuse a much-needed boost if it was being offered.

It only took half a second, but apparently, that was more than enough for Nightmare's newest recruit to push through and block Dream's approach. 

The new Sans was... _unique_...to say the least.

Dream had never seen his AU, and even when they found it in the Doodlesphere Ink seemed iffy about visiting it.

_"It looks...wrong. Maybe we should leave it alone to visit for next time?"_

Next time didn't happen, as they found out eventually. Funnily enough, it was in a battle much like this that they found out this 'Cross' character even knew about the multiverse. But again, Nightmare was directly involved in this, and the multiverse really wasn't that big of a secret when your boss and your whole team was compromised of your alternates--which were also alternates of an alternate--and that all of you were based off a single original True Timeline.

But that wasn't relevant right now.

What was relevant though, was the shock to Dream's system when his apparent adversary braced his weapon (a giant red knife! that glowed! what the heck?!) against Dream's bow and leaned close enough to whisper a _"You look especially golden today,"_ before pushing off the startled skeleton to retreat to his brother's side, playing the role of a stoic guard. 

Nightmare turned an eye light to Cross' direction, having previously focused on collecting all the negativity they produced in the AU before the stars came, and found the other looking like he always did--except for a minute brightening of his eye lights.

He turned an eye to his golden brother, seeing the other shake off a slightly confused face before locking eyes with him, making Nightmare sneer and bark orders at his boys.

Meanwhile, Cross waited until Nightmare turned from him to open the portal before letting out a sigh. He wanted to stay a little longer to see how his target reacted, but the job was done, and it was taco night.

Dream continued to be in a confused haze after, not that it would be obvious to an observer. Dream has long since mastered the art of acting competent when he was more than ready to pass out on the spot and sleep for a year--it came with the whole 'being best friends with an immortal possible sociopath' package. They still had to get through a whole lot of clean up work on the AU itself, and that wasn't even half of it!

He had to let Ink make the human RESET to right before his idiot brother messed with the AU. Normally he would be more than happy to let it continue its timeline, but with the amount of negativity Nightmare pulled and put into it, it would be easier on them all to force a blank slate. Doing so would at least increase Dream's chances of bringing back the relative balance of emotions lost.

His friends had noticed his strange behavior, of course, and he couldn't stop himself from blurting out what happened. Ink only laughed (more like cackled really, if he was being honest) at Cross's actions and teased Dream about it, while Blue was more tactful and calmed the definitely not flustered Guardian down. 

(He tried to hide his own glee at this, and only showcased a slightly sharper than usual smirk aimed at his dear friend. There would be time for teasing later when they were in safer environments. And where they could hide behind the couch should Dream decide he'd like to suffocate them in Blue's pillows again.) 

Oblivious to the scheming of his friends, Dream brought a hand up to rub at his skull, eye lights blinking slowly. He couldn't begin to try to comprehend what the heck brought whatever that was on! Sure, logically he knew what it was and what it sounded like but he was also half convinced his brother had a hand in it! And he was still trying to convince himself it happened and that it wasn't some kind of weird hallucination dream thing! 

Blue and Ink continued to watch their fellow guardian, giggling plans and plots to each other, trashing some and pinning others for later thought. Suppose this meant the betting table was open once again. By the angel, Blue missed this. 

Matchmaking was such fun~!

They convened back at Underswap this time and took a much-appreciated break from the chaos that branched from their responsibilities. Though that didn't mean Dream was off the hook from Ink's frankly hilarious teasing. The two seamlessly switched to other topics when Dream flustered himself to a golden yellow so the guardian could calm back down before they dived back into analyzing and inspecting what occurred in detail once again. 

Dream tried to convince himself that no his face was _not,_ in fact, warm thank you and _no_ he would not want any matchmaking to happen for him _Blue sit back down right now if you know what's good for you--!_

Dream loved his friends dearly. He truly did. They were his special little family, people to call his own. 

But sometimes he just wants to bash their thick as concrete skulls into each other every once in a while. 

The day had long since winded down and their fatigue caught up eventually. Even the hyperactive Blue was starting to quiet in the wake of everything. 

They let the warmth of the atmosphere relax them and basked in the peace they hardly ever got, smiles soft, and words softer. 

Twilight gently took ahold of the world and the trio went their separate ways to rest and recollect themselves for tomorrow's grind in the comfort of their homes. 

Dream wondered distantly, as he dived into his wonderfully soft bed, about today's opponent. This new fighter seemed steady with his weapon, and could very well be yet another threat to them. Despite that though, Dream doesn't quiet the curious thought that wondered about who this new fighter was and how future battles would go.

Unaware of the tiny smile gracing his sleepy expression.

As he fell into a trance, he thought of the words said to him, and the small smile grew warmer in tandem with his cheeks. 

A compliment was a compliment, and it was always nice to be given one. Even if it was from this confusing opponent and gave him a free ride on the emotional roller coaster.

~~(Maybe he would even dare to return the sentiment one day.)~~

The Guardian let out a yawn and closed his sockets, embracing the slumber that came with fleeting flashes of black on white on gold, and a tender smile that made his core flutter. 

It was the most relaxed sleep he'd had in weeks.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> apparently having around 200 words is called a double drabble

"Would you bring me back a flower today, beloved?" 

"Of course. Which would you like?" 

"Anything you bring back that made you think of me will be more than enough." 

"As you wish it so, it is done." 

A single slightly wilted black rose left on Genocide's bedside table was all he needed to know, and his blankets soon became stained with grief and red-tinted magic. 

Long gone were the days of red roses, left beside his pillow with a note from his love. From dozens upon dozens to a handful, to merely one or two. 

And now, none at all. 

He thought back to that single blood-red rose he tucked into Reaper's work robe the night before, knowing the god would find it there, and wondered if Reaper even kept it. Bitterly laughing at himself, Genocide curled into a tighter ball and mourned for what was.

A love he wished he would never have again.

_They promised._

Not if it ends like this.

_Forever and always._

Genocide's silent cries echo in an empty house as a wrinkled petal falls beside him.

He wishes he never asked for that wretched flower.

But not all desires come true, no matter how hard you yearn them so.

Genocide knew this best, and foolishly, he still wished for his very own happy ending.

Worse yet? He did.

_He got his happy ending._

And it was beautiful and exciting than any and everything he ever dared to hope for _and yet-!_

Yet.

...

Guess all good things did come to an end, didn't they?


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another double drabble!

If you were to ask him what love is, he could probably recite poetry on it. 

Endless, he'd say. Timeless. All-encompassing. 

Love would have a million tiny different shades of emotions you'd drown in before you even got through a quarter of it. It's that vast. 

He'd go on and on about how it was everywhere and everything, good and bad, dark and light. 

Love is balance. He'd tell you, eyes bright and smile brighter. 

But if you ask what love is to him? 

You'd see that spark fade. Poetry crumbles to ash in his throat and chokes him, turning his eyes dull. 

Love? 

_To him?_

The question is unfair, he thinks, smile falling short of cutting. 

He will turn away and laugh, maybe direct the topic elsewhere. He will talk circles around you, praying for you to forget as he does.

He will not give you an answer. He is not able to. 

But the question will press on him until he flees and hides away, excuses spilling from a tongue coated in toxic chemicals. 

A soulless being knowing what love felt like?

How could they? 

The idea was laughable!

~~He ignored how that made something in him shrivel.~~


	21. Chapter 21

The error couldn't remember when he started lingering.

Watching the aftermath of each battle, each stand-off, each encounter he made with the nutjob who had the gall to pique his interest.

He doesn't know why either, but then again, he doesn't think he needs an explanation.

He doesn't think he wants one either.

As Ink sprints across his doodlesphere, cackling like the gremlin he was with a neon yellow positivity guardian right behind him with a glowing spear, promising death and torture galore and he hums in amusement.

Yeah, definitely didn't need an explanation.

It'd probably break someone's brain trying to rationalize the chaos incarnate that was the multiverse's protector.

Stars have mercy on them.

For now, he'd amuse himself watching another episode of Ink being Ink.

Just until Undernovela catches up to its last episode post reset.

And if there was a tiny smile on his skull when the artist manages to inexplicably  fuck up even more and still be relatively unscathed after, well, there was nobody but him watching.

[Wow stalker much, Destroyer?]

The Voices were that—voices—so they didn't count and his point still stood.

[Awww, he’s growing soft!]

“I AM _ANYTHING_ BUT SOFT STUPID VOICES!”

[Heh, could’ve fooled us.]

“Don’t you assholes have anything better to do?”

[Not  really, no.]

“Why can’t you buzz off to somebody who actually wants to talk to you?”

[You’re hurting our feelings here glitchy~]

“Oh, I am? _**Good**_.  Maybe  you guys can finally fuck off–”

“Heeeey Ruru!”

“No. No, no, _Creators_ _no_.”

[Creators YES.]


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its been sitting in drafts for at least a month now and i only just remembered this drabble series thing actually existed oops

Their house was warmly lit in the cold night of their realm. As it should be, of course. Goth wasn’t a very sickly child, but Reaper knew sickness often took a rough toll on his baby. 

Not that his Gothy would admit to it, of course not. He was too stubborn for that. Reaper smiled, definitely got it from his mother. 

(Geno would haughtily tell him it was a mix of both of them. Reaper's smile faltered.)

At the young age of six years, his Goth was becoming more and more outspoken with every day. More brazen too, Reaper mused, floating above Goth’s play area, his tattered robe ends dragging against artificial gray fur.

Goth was the brightest star in Reaper's eternal life, and he wouldn't dare ask for anything more than his baby's happiness.

But even stars needed to burn out eventually, and that's what happened tonight.

Poor thing ate too many sweets at Life's house, and Reaper had to wait out the crash. Thankfully, there was no vomit this time. Less thankfully, he now had to call his brother over to help with their living room walls. That Goth had apparently decided to shower in whipped cream and frosting.

Reaper eyed said wall with disdain, picking up a sprawled Goth instead. Nothing a few favors won't fix.

The elder god tucked in one wayward wing, smoothing down the feathers as he rocked Goth, lightly humming one of Geno's favorite songs. It wasn't a lullaby originally, but it was so soothing it might as well have been. 

(Geno knew it by heart, and Reaper would be glad to listen to him in the eternity of the Save Screen if he could have.)

Naturally, Goth loved it to absolute bits and would ask for it to be sung to him at bedtime.

"Please sing me the song tonight, Daddy?" 

Those eyes were illegal in some way, he was sure. Oh well, Reaper never could say no to that face. "Of course, sweetling."

Goth hummed along to the parts he knew best, sleepily rubbing a socket, and wasn't that just adorable?

The night was cold and quiet in the realm of the dead, but the house inside it was warmer than you'd expect it to be.

As he was humming, Reaper couldn't help noticing how much bigger Goth had grown. He was aware of it of course—it’d be more alarming if his child _didn't_ grow—but this kind of awareness came with the gut-punching thought that one day Goth would be too big to be picked up.

And suddenly Reaper wanted to hold his child tighter—as if he could keep him like this if he willed it. As if he could steal away a few more moments just like this, before his baby had to grow up and know the pains of the world. But Reaper would never dare to deprive him of the joy of growth and life and its wonders. 

"Your Papa loved to dance," Reaper whispered to his yawning son, smiling at Goth's lidded sockets. "We used to dance with each other all the time, and once I even taught him how to waltz."

"Will you teach me how to wall-tsh too, Daddy?" Goth asked, yawning and rubbing at his skull. "So I can dance with you while we wait for Papa to come home."

Goth continued to stare up at him, little phalanges clutching at where he could reach. Reaper could feel his ribs constrict, even though his robes were always of the freely flowing kind.

(No wonder Geno loved them, he thinks. The glitch was always a sucker for soft things, and Reaper's robes were second to none.)

(He thinks it might be partly why Goth loved hoarding the softest things he could find. After all, "—they were all the things Papa loved, so I love them too!")

"Daddy?" Goth shifted. The babybones tugged at what he could reach of his father's wings, to which Reaper winced. His down feathers were sensitive as it it, and that was a hard tug. His baby was getting stronger every day. He'd have to talk to Papyrus about training that strength sooner rather than later. "Teach me how to dance please?"

Reaper looked down, lightless sockets meeting ones that reminded him so much of his love it physically hurt. He choked on the almost sob in his throat.

"Of course, baby bird. Anything for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be soft fluff what happened


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have some (definitely not apology) fluff yall

Ink loved Error's hands.

Lovely, tri-colored things. They were hypnotizing, straight up mesmerizing to look at, the shades of their colors prominent against the white floor of the anti-void. 

He longed to know how they would feel slotted into his own, but he knows Error isn't up to that. Not yet.

If he could, he'd be studying those hands for hours. Flexing every little joint, trailing touches where magic magnetized the bones together. But as much as his adorable glitch cat's progressed with his touch issue, they hadn't yet been able to touch for longer than fifteen minutes (yes, Ink kept count).

That's okay though. He can be patient. He's waited this long for Error to even acknowledge him and even longer for the glitch to respond to his conversations. He can wait another couple thousand years.

It was still frustrating for Error though. Never mind that Ink already told him (repeatedly, might he add) what they've already been doing was already such a grand gesture. 

He still felt the swirls of pride and elation run through him, merely prickles of the strength they could be, if he chose to take his colors.

He stroked down his green and cyan and orange vials instead, already grinning under the influence of half a vial of yellow. It was hard to sit still with the urge to whoop and scream and jump around the house making his magic restless but alas, the situation called for it.

It was illegal to even breathe wrong when a cat slept on you, after all, lest you wake them and face their wrath. 

His poor Error needed all the sleep he could get.

Ink would much rather lock himself in the void for a day than move and wake the poor dear, 

even though he'd started losing feeling in his arm. 

For now, he'd content himself to playing with Error's hands a little longer.

.

.

.

Error, on the the hand (heh), hated to love Ink's.

Or was the saying "loved to hate"? Bah, it didn't matter.

The artist's hands were so graceful, slender and beautiful, almost dainty. Sharpened tips trailed lazily on his skull, occasionally dipping down to trace down his spine and collarbone before going back up.

Error hummed, absently rolling his skull onto his shoulder, making it easier for that hand to travel its path. The way his pixels seemed to tingle in the wake of it wasn't bad either.

He personally knew the strength and brutality that could come from those fragile looking limbs, knew the havoc should the artist decide to forgo mercy.

It wasn't often that happened, but when it did, well.

Error's glad to say he's only been at the end of that stick only a handful (heheh) of times.

That wasn't to say Ink was cruel. Stars forbid the guardian approach any situation with less than Frisk levels of pacifism.

Ink wasn't fond of cruelty, certainly, but he also wasn't alien to it. 

(Error's been at the end of that brand if cruelty far too many times to be a stranger.) 

(But fair is fair. He knows Ink has his own share of scars and breaks, ones Error inflicted himself.)

(Those fights seemed so far away now, so long ago, yet still within reach. They know they could regress into those personalities again, easily even, if worst came to worst.)

(They try not to think about it.)

Besides, going back to the whole fighting shtick was more trouble than it was worth, not to mention the toll it took on both of them.

Good thing that wasn't at all part of their plans in any way.

Error could feel the beginnings of a purr working its way up his rib cage to his throat and filling what little space between them with a soft warm thing.

He could feel Ink's hand pausing its trail, could feel an answering hum in the protector's magic, could feel the tap of Ink's smile on the crown of his skull.

Error snuggles closer still, wanting to be as close as he could get with two comforters acting as a barrier between them, and lets the last of his conscious thoughts go.

Ink's other arm tightened around him and he sighs, melting and molding to Ink's shape. 

His idiot protector was here, and he was safe as can be in his anti-void.

It was okay to sleep now. Ink was here, and he would keep watch for both of them.

With that, Error let sleep take him under.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i've had thoughts of Dream Beating People Up for so long I just needed a reason

One day, Dream got stuck in a universe. A (probably) uninhabited, but still clearly thriving universe. He wasn’t sure about the uninhabited part, but he was also in the middle of a forest of sorts, so he couldn’t really guarantee.

There were few flora and fauna he was familiar with, and when he investigated most of them weren’t what he thought they were at all. (He took one long look at the odd round red things hanging from a tree, blinked, had his eye lights fuzz yellow then gold, before promptly turning back the way he came. He’s been traumatized enough by apples for several lifetimes, he thinks.)

He’d later gotten distracted by the multitudes of wildlife, and was awed the whole time. It was so utterly fascinating to him, these lifeforms he’d never seen.

(He was pretty sure he’d seen a white horse with a glimmering horn in a meadow he passed, but when he doubled back in shock there was merely a white rabbit. And an old oak tree he was sure wasn’t there before. He scurried away before he could question his sanity even more.)

Obviously, he’d taken it upon himself to explore the universe. Or just the forest he found himself in, at the very least. It didn’t seem likely that he was going to be out soon, and he wasn’t nearly as accomplished at universe-meddling as Ink.

The last time he tried, well.

Let’s just say he was never stepping foot in any war-associated variant ever again.

Though he’d like to think he’d come a long way since then! He’s been AU hopping on his own for a while now after all, and he’s only had one problem so far!

Which brought him back to now.

He got himself stuck in an AU of undetermined type, with little to no survival gear, his magic nearly drained, and he’d have to spend an undetermined amount of time here until he found a way to fix his situation.

Neat. Not ideal for sure, but still neat.

Besides, he hasn’t taken any sort of break from guardian work in a long while ~~even though he’s only been a guardian for a century and a fourth~~ , and a vacation in a universe by himself with no Ink to look after and no Nighty– _Nightmare_ to be on the lookout for?

“Sounds like a dream,” he murmured, giggling to himself and continuing his trek. The forest was vast, and he only had so much time before sundown!

That had been nearly four decades ago, now. Dream could hardly believe time passed so quickly.

He’d gotten to stay there, undisturbed for nearly a month and half before Ink found him and got him out. They discovered the rest of the universe together, after Dream upped his magic well with food of course. Couldn’t risk being on empty if they came by trouble.

Turned out it was a classic AU variant, though it was still in the air if it would take a turn and grow into itself and stay that way or have the Creator kickstart the anomalies the Player would bring.

Ink said it was fifty-fifty of it staying a classic or becoming a dance variant, with a possible inclination to the swapped variety.

Things had changed so much since then.

The AU itself being the most obvious. The forest was still as large as he remembered, but now he could see the silhouette of a city in the far distance when before all he could see from the treetops were more trees and maybe a clearing or two.

He himself has also changed, naturally. Better stamina for one, the climb up didn’t leave him breathless as it once did. He’s also gotten quieter, footsteps quick and light and body fluidly moving past branches and greenery. His clothes didn’t get themselves caught on rough patches of bark like they used to, sticking close to him and fluttering faintly at a stray breeze.

Dream took a breath, smiling. As much as things changed, some looked to have stayed the same.

The path was obviously not part of the other trails, despite there being the barest hints of a trail beaten onto it.

Now his steps remained steady, straightforward, a rhythmic near silent rustling the only indication of movement this far out in the woods.

Though lack of movement certainly didn’t translate to lack of life. His path was overgrown with weeds and wild shrubbery, and he was pretty sure he’d seen a rabbit or two in the undergrowth.

He continued on his way, enjoying the rustling of the woods and stepping on a thin branch, inwardly snickering at the cut off profanity whispered behind him.

He didn’t know who was tailing him, but they were doing an extremely poor job of keeping him unaware.

The rustling in the bush quieted when he spun around to walk in its direction, abruptly stopping to turn behind a tree into a small clearing instead. It was one of the many mini-clearings he’d found in his camping trips over the years, and he immediately set to cleaning up a space for his little campfire.

He tilted his skull to a hiss and a low grunt right after he crouched. Apparently, they were also doing a poor job of keeping themselves quiet.

At least now he could assume there were likely two stalkers at most. Still didn’t shed any light on who though.

Dream could list quite a number of individuals who were very much inclined to this particular mischief off the top of his head, and already there was a list of highly likely suspects.

He made a show of putting down his sack to the side, stretching his shoulders until the joints popped, and patiently waited for his guests to take the bait. The whole ‘looking like a defenseless kid’ usually did the trick of baiting the unsavory types, and this was no different.

The minute he felt their presence behind him Dream spun around with a leg kicked out to bring them down. Thankfully (or not so thankfully, depending on who you asked) there were no big rocks in this clearing, else Dream would have to spend more hours and bury yet another corpse.

He wasn’t very fond of the blood getting everywhere and attracting predators.

Dream wrangled for the knife, barely out of reach, ignoring the scruff and grit of the soil under him. He smashes his skull into his oppressor, feeling their hold slacken and immediately rolling on top to gain back an advantage.

He clawed into and twisted the hand into letting go of the knife, struggling to pin down the mugger. Avoiding the snap of teeth on his arm bones hardly distracted him.

He had the upper hand for the time being, shock and a hit to the head disorienting his assailant. Gripping the knife, he sends a tiny amount of his magic into the figure under him and waits for their body to grow lax before he removes the knife at their throat.

Can’t be too careful, there’s been others who overcame his sleep magic before.

Though, compared to the mobility and agility he was used to facing off with, this kind of rough tumble was nothing but a mild annoyance at best.

Just once he’d like for a day in his life to not be so inclined to mishaps and disaster. Just one day.

He’s not asking for much, is he?

Honestly, he was so done with the disasters that followed him ever since he started his guardianship. He’s got so much on his plate, even after all this time.

The brother he’s fought with nearly every other day since his freedom from stone.

Going phalange to phalange with the multiversal guardian.

Making sure his side of the balance was in check.

He just wants a reprieve from all of that shit.

An arm swipes at his cervical vertebrae and Dream paused on his daydreaming, spinning to catch his other guest with an arm, making sure to throw his weight down on where he pressed on his mugger’s throat.

It was almost unfair, seeing as bones weighed significantly less than magical flesh and muscle, which had mass he did not.

It was probably also unfair that he most likely had more battle prowess than this thief thought, he conceded to himself. Also, fleshy creatures had more easily taken advantage of spots than skeletons did. Like the throat and the head.

As demonstrated by the unmoving body a few feet away, not dust but also definitely not walking away unscathed. A blow to the head usually did that. They’d likely have a concussion of sorts at most.

The vaguely canine monster growled and bucked upwards to lodge Dream off, but as stated before, Dream’s had quite the history with fighting. Skeletons also didn’t weigh very much, also stated before, so really the mugger would’ve been more successful if he’d rolled Dream over to gain back the advantage.

Dream would rather cut this oh so pleasant encounter short though. He had somewhere to be and was more than likely later than he'd like to admit.

So when an opening for escape came, Dream did the smart thing and took it for what it was.

Sure, maybe smashing the canine’s skull onto the ground after knocking the breath from their windpipe had a bit of excessive force behind it but fights of this caliber often needed those.

Blue would say it was unnecessary and a tad underhanded but it was also incentive to making sure they stayed down.

It would be so inconvenient if he had to turn his back to yet another sneaking up attempt.

The other body could attest to how well that would end up.

After all, Dream didn’t get this far without having to dirty his hands a time or twelve.

(More than twelve really, if he bothered to count.)

As he stood from the second unconscious body, he wondered if he could bluff off the stains the unprecedented scuffle caused his clothes.

Maybe he could say he slid and tumbled down on the path? He’d think on an excuse on the way up the slope. Tardiness was something nobody appreciated after all.

The golden guardian didn’t spare his attackers another glance and dusted himself off, straightening his outfit as much as he could with a huff. Muggers were so rude, honestly!

Now where was his rucksack?


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i cut you open and praises fall from your lips  
>  thorns and brambles cut your skin with every flower I gift you  
> you drink in every lie I spill  
> "like wine," you told me, tears beading and smile fragile  
> \- A Letter To Belladonna_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? make poetry??? 
> 
> blasphemous

Abandoned and lonely, flitting from distraction to distraction in hopes of outrunning their thoughts. They found each other in the midst of their insanity though, so that made up for it.

~~Just a little.~~  
  
(Nothing could ever make up for the forgotten decades of their pasts, not really. But if it made him happy then they'd gladly play the same game.)  
  
They weren’t supposed to find each other. Always, it was always the same. One of them stayed away, the other gave chase.

It was up to Fate and Destiny to twine their entangled mess of strings into something they could handle.  
  
Handle, because they were both godly incarnates. Chaos and Order. Two sides to the same coin. Together they were Balance.

Handle, because there was no way of controlling them, as they were governed by their own laws, often convoluted to anyone else but them.

Handle, because to attempt otherwise would guarantee the ire of their other half.  
  
(Because nobody else could _be_ Balance. Nobody would ever be Balance but the two of them--caught in each other's orbits time and time and time and time again.)  
  
Their joining was unpredictable, naturally.

Destruction would flare, Creativity would defend, and they would waltz upon the world together. Bones and ink and strings and paint, all to determine the fall or the safety of one world of souls, amongst countless others like it.  
  
They weren’t supposed to find love.  
  
They weren’t supposed to crave their joining, longing to see the other's face in the light of lethal blasts, to pull the other close enough to touch, to breathe the same breath, bodies rushing with adrenaline and magic exploding like supernovas.  
  
But then again, neither of them were born to follow through with the rules, were they?


	26. Chapter 26

Knowledge comes from learning.

Those who know impart their learnings.

As such, all beings learn. Learn to breathe, learn to love, learn to live.

Learn to love living.

But he?

He who is born from the nothing and the everything and the in-between?

He does not learn. He has no need to.

He already knows.

And isn’t that tragic?

To know of life but not understand it.

To know of breath but never have the need of it.

To know of love but not house the soul to feel for it.

He does not live. Not truly.

He survives.


End file.
